Intimates
by Runawaymetaphor
Summary: What if it hadn't been Chakotay that Janeway was with on New Earth?
1. Proximity

Intimates

_Don't you care for my love? she said bitterly._

_I handed her the mirror, and said:_

_Please address these questions to the proper person!_

_Please make all requests to head-quarters!_

_In all matters of emotional importance_

_please approach the supreme authority direct! -_

_So I handed her the mirror._

_And she would have broken it over my head,_

_but she caught sight of her own reflection_

_and that held her spell bound for two seconds_

_while I fled._

_-D. H. Lawrence, "Intimates"_

_Author's Note: They don't belong to me, I just borrow them to play with. RE the premise: I'm raiding the sacred tombs of J/C and plundering it for the purposes of J/P. Avid J/C fans may want to turn back now. . . Or else keep reading, and be converted. :-)_

Chapter 1: Proximity

Janeway woke up from stasis first, the sound of her communicator sounding far away through the haze of induced unconsciousness. She sat up to answer it, looking at Paris as he sat up a few moments after her. He was taking longer to wake up, but his body seemed to relax. He'd gone into stasis practically kicking and screaming, and his posture now told her that his body was one big kink. It must have tensed up even when the stasis cycle began. Poor man.

Tuvok's voice filled the empty space around them. "Tuvok to Captain Janeway."

"We read you Tuvok. Anything?" Her face was hopeful. She looked to Paris. He wore a mask of indifference.

"I regret to inform you that the Doctor has made no progress isolating the virus you and Lieutenant Paris have contracted from the alien insect."

Her stomach flipped and her mouth went dry, but she felt herself nodding. When the conversation with Tuvok, and then Chakotay, had finished and the channel closed, she allowed herself to look over at Paris. She was sure her fear didn't show on her face, but somehow her helmsman always managed to read what she was thinking even when she hid it. She wanted to reassure him, and looked him in the eye. He smiled at her, a smile she was sure he didn't feel.

"Looks like we're going to be spending a bit of time together, Captain." He gave her a wink, leaning against the stasis chamber. Despite herself, she shook her head. He was trying to reassure her. Only Tom.

"Let's just hope you're right about it being only 'a bit', Mr. Paris. Not that I don't think you'd be fascinating company."

She was about to find out.

. . . . .

The day they recorded their farewell messages to Voyager, Janeway and Paris were mostly silent. Both were lost in their own thoughts, but it was also apparent that neither one was entirely comfortable with their proximity. Janeway thought that she was going to have to address this sooner or later, but today she just didn't have the energy. She noticed when he immediately changed out of the Starfleet uniform, and something about how swiftly he did it made her mood darken. She wanted desperately not to give up, to believe that they would still see home. Seeing him in civilian clothes somehow made her feel like she was alone. It was an irrational thought, she knew. Tom wanted to get back to Voyager as much as she did; he loved to fly, he loved the stars. Still, she'd excused herself in the evening, taking a walk down to the river that was near their small metal house.

After an hour, he found her. She was sitting beneath a tree, her back pressed against its trunk. He thought that even on an alien planet, sitting below a tree, she looked like she was in command. He realized that the thought, a year earlier, would have been a dark one- an insult, an unfriendly estimation. But now, it was a mere statement of facts. A small recognition of the kind of person the woman in front of him was. She didn't hear him approach, which he knew was out of character, and when he drew closer he tried not to startle her. If that was even possible, he thought, given that they were the only two people on the planet.

"Hey," he said finally, catching her attention. It wasn't a formal greeting, but he wasn't big on formalities even on Voyager. "You've been gone an hour."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you, Mr. Paris." His tone of voice had been chosen to give that implication, but he decided it wasn't a good way to start this conversation.

"Truthfully," he sat down about half a meter from where she was, "I didn't worry." She looked at him, and he shrugged. "You've managed to take care of yourself so far, when we'd been surrounded by Kazon and people who'd rather fire on you than say hello. I had no doubts you'd be just fine on an uninhabited planet. I was just. . . Curious ." She realized that they needed to talk. That this was the time she should reassure him that they weren't out of options, and that everything would be okay. This was the time to discuss the fact that, despite their discomforts, they were going to living together in close proximity. Before she could find her resolve, he began to speak again. "I'm sorry I changed out of the uniform so quickly." The statement caught her off guard and she tried to hide it. Had she inadvertently shown her displeasure? "Please understand, it doesn't mean anything. I want to get off this planet. Back to Voyager. I'm not giving up."

"I know you do," she said, realizing he was going to go on.

"But the uniform holds no particular meaning for me." He was looking away from her to the river, and she could see him working through his words as he spoke. "The clothes, the pips. . . I don't hold them sacred, and I get out of them as soon I can when I hit my quarters." She was still waiting for him to finish, still watching. "But that doesn't mean that I don't care. I do. Just in a different way than you do. I care about Voyager, about her crew." He looked back to her. "I care about not letting you down. But the rest, Starfleet. . ." He didn't finish his sentence, only shrugged.

She understood what he was saying. He cared about Voyager, but to him, Voyager and Starfleet were separable. He also understood that to her they weren't. "I'm not sure why your changing made me so upset." It wasn't what she'd planned to say, but the whole conversation had taken her off guard. She hadn't expected him to the be one to tackle things, to come and find her. Emotional honesty was not his strong suit, and he normally diffused anything resembling a sincere moment with a joke. She realized now that he was trying to make things easier on her. She felt pride, and somewhere beneath that, gratitude. He deflected his eyes back to the river.

"You felt alone," he supplied. He said it casually, as though he was calling out a course correction rather than revealing her darkest feeling with sensational ease. His tone made it bearable for her.

She took a breath. "I suppose you're right."

"Well," a rueful smile appeared on his face, "I'm afraid alone is the last thing you're going to be here." It was more an apology than a reassurance. He was seamlessly shifting one concern to another, she realized.

"I know that this is going to be uncomfortable for both of us, at least at the beginning." Her tone sounded far too formal compared to his. He almost snorted.

"I think that it's going to be more uncomfortable for you." Again, his words took her by surprise and she tried to derail him from where he was going.

"Oh, Tom, you aren't _that _bad of company." He laughed, but she could tell she didn't affect his course.

"I'm serious. As a Captain, you've gotten used to a certain kind of distance. You think it necessary, even without the requirements of protocol." He thought as well that she was a private person by nature, but made no remark to this. "I'm sure. . . this is all a bit unsavory." She was shifting uncomfortably, and he was trying not took at her, trying not to make it worse. "Not to mention the person you're left alone with was once in prison."

She gave a small laugh, and put her face in her hands, rubbing her forehead. It was very un-Captainly. "When, exactly, Mr. Paris did you become so perceptive? Have you been holding back on me the whole time you've been on Voyager?" Her voice was filled with affection. And frustration. He couldn't help but grin.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you came out here and planned a long speech about our new living arrangements, and trying to get back to Voyager." He was smiling and gesturing with his hands. "And now I've ruined it all by coming here and being mature." His voice grew more dramatic. "And you're irritated, because I chose this moment, when you've already had a very long day, to finally grow up and behave like something less than a full jackass, thus ruining your lovely planned speech." He looked at her innocently. "Does that about cover it?"

"What were you saying, Lieutenant? I wasn't listening. I was too busy wondering what your name would sound like with 'Ensign' in front of it." The joke was dark and brooding, and amused Tom to no end. He flopped back on the grass, laughing. Janeway chuckled silently, and then they were still for a moment.

He looked up at her and his eyes were suddenly serious. "When we get back to Voyager, ma'am, you can call me Crewman for all I care." She was sure he'd said 'when' instead of 'if' for her benefit, but the conviction he said it with struck her. She felt stinging behind her eyes, and patted his arm, moving to stand up.

"I'll remind you of that when your rations account is reset to reflect your new rank." He didn't reply. It was senseless to try to get the last word with the Captain. Instead, he fell in line behind her as they walked back to the house.

. . . . .

It had been two weeks that they were on the planet, and Paris and Janeway were now more comfortable sharing space. Tom cooked breakfast and dinner, and Janeway was pleased to learn that his culinary skills far surpassed her own. At lunchtime, he munched on fruit or a sandwich while she was out tinkering with the insect traps he'd help her set up. She never, ever ate lunch, though sometimes when she knew he was eating she would pop in the house to keep him company at the table.

Now, it was dinnertime, and she was pouring over the data she'd collected while he sat tinkering with a PADD.

"Anything?" he asked, in between bites of food.

"Absolutely nothing useful." He didn't look up from what he was doing, but knew that if he did, he'd see her scowling. He heard the sound of a thud; she'd just thrown what she was working aside in exasperation.

"What are you doing over there?" she asked finally.

"What? You mean besides eating?" He tore his eyes away from what he was working to look her, and realized she was glaring at him. He'd become less phased by this now than he was on Voyager. By now, she'd glared at him for tracking mud into the house, for dumping out her coffee, even though it was cold. She still scared him, interestingly enough, but it wasn't because he associated her anger purely with command structure and life and death decisions.

"Obviously, you're not reading. What are you tinkering with over on that PADD?" A week ago, he'd begun to spend hours of his day reading. She suspected it was boredom setting in, and it partly was, but he confessed that he'd always felt like he was under-read, at least for his background and education. He hadn't had to elaborate on 'background'; not only did she know his father, but she knew firsthand what it was like grow up with an admiral. He knew this, and explained in few words that he'd always devoted his free energies to flying and doing the things he loved, but had shown little interest in what his father thought made a well-rounded person. Now, with time on his hands, he wanted to change that, he wanted to read all of the classics.

He smiled at her sheepishly at her, and knew that he'd been caught. He thought it would take her at least a day to notice he was doing work rather than reading, at least given how preoccupied she'd become with her research on the virus. "To be honest. . ." He scratched the side of his neck, and put down the PADD. "I'm working on shuttle designs. Specifically, warp core modifications." Her eyebrows drew together, and she grabbed the PADD he'd been working on. "Oh, of course you can see what I've been doing. Thank you so much for asking." She glared at him again, and he slumped against the back of his chair.

She read with interest, and after a few minutes looked up at him. "These designs are fascinating, Tom. Do you think you can really execute them?"

He shrugged. It was his all-purpose reply, and she'd taken it, mistakenly, as a sign of indifference when he first came aboard Voyager. Now she realized that he used it to express a variety of things.

"I'm not sure. I think I could." He picked up his fork and began to eat again. "But that isn't quite the point." She arched an eyebrow, a sign for him to go on, and he did. "I find this kind of thing enjoyable. And it's mentally active, unlike reading, so it's nice to break up the day with. But I enjoy it for its own sake, and not just because I want to physically create anything I come up with." He was telling her, indirectly, that his hobby didn't assume that they were getting back to Voyager. That it wasn't some possibly futile effort that, if not realized, would be cast aside with scorn. He was voicing that he understood the possibility that they may never see Voyager again, or fly among the stars. And he was doing it in a way that gave her the chance to not engage the conversation.

"It's not that I haven't considered the possibility that we'll spend the rest of our lives here."

"I know."

"It's just that I have to do everything in my power to fight against it."

"I know that, too. And I'm grateful."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. They ate the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence, but when they stood to clean up she decided that it was her turn to broach a touchy topic.

"Tom?"

"Hmm?"

"I've noticed that you haven't used my title in almost a week."

He looked at her with confusion as well discomfort. "There's only two of us on the planet. I kind of assumed that when I begin to speak, you know that it's directed at you."

She ignored his dodge and pressed on. "Are you becoming. . . Uncomfortable with the formality? I have the liberty of referring to you by first name, but you haven't had the same. "

He looked away from her, trying to decided the answer. "I think I'm uncomfortable with it because I worry that you are."

"I'm sorry?"

"I know that probably no one calls you by your first name on Voyager, but . . . There's 146 of us on the ship." They both still referred to their time on Voyager in the present tense, and neither of them ever corrected the other or remarked on it. "Here, there are only two. It feels somehow. . . Unkind? Rude? I don't know."

"I understand what you mean. . . But we aren't exactly in a chain of command anymore. It's okay if you call me Kathryn." She expected him to be uncomfortable, to react the way Harry would, but this was Tom, and she wasn't sure why she expected him to be anything less unflappable when it came to the overlap of the professional and the personal.

"It's okay with me. My question is . . . Is it okay with you?" He wanted to know if him using her first name was going to be a painful sign of defeat, a marker to her that she had failed them. But he wouldn't ask this, and instead looked at her with open eyes, willing her to understand. She did.

"It's fine, Tom. Truly." She added, "As long as you stick with 'Kathryn', with no variations on the theme." She shouldn't have said it; it was a challenge and she knew by the glint in his eye he was going to take it.

"You've never liked _any_ nickname?"

"No." It was a lie, but she wasn't going to encourage him.

"Hmm."

"I mean it. Crewman Paris."

"And here I thought we were on a first name basis. How very impolite." She snorted, her only response.

Later that night, after they'd settled at the table reading, she remarked with some disdain that she was going to take a sonic shower before turning in to bed.

"Not a fan of the sonic shower?" he asked.

"I prefer baths." On Voyager, he would have made some kind of slight innuendo here, but here it was only two of them in a tiny house. Awkward moments were excruciating, and he did everything in his power to avoid them. His face twisted in thought.

"You know, we could probably build a bathtub."

"You really think so?" Her face lit up with interest.

"Well, I'm no engineer. But I know some carpentry. I'd need your help though."

"Tom, if we can successfully build a bathtub, I'll give you whatever you want." She was already moving across the house to the sonic shower.

"Ah. Well, after your first bath, I will demand one nickname as payment."

"Not going to happen. Ever."

"In that case, enjoy your sonic shower."

She grumbled, and he laughed, though mostly to himself. He knew that he'd try to build her the bathtub. He knew that he'd build her a life-size replica of Voyager, if for one second he thought it would make her life here happier.

. . . . .

The tub had taken three weeks, and five unsuccessful attempts to seal it. Tom learned with some amusement that Kathryn could swear in seven different languages, and with great fluidity.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be sealed," Tom said after their second to last attempt. "Maybe we can just let it leak water, and I can come out and fill it with buckets." She looked at him, hands on her hips. "Of course, you would have to bathe with all your clothes on. And it would be more a pain in the ass than relaxation. But still." She'd turned away from him, cursing in Romulan, and he shook his head.

Now, she was outside taking a bath in the functioning, but less than perfectly sealed, bathtub, and he was inside toying with a new engine design. He heard her shout, and before he could blink was running outside, the chair he had occupied clattering to the floor. The primate-looking creature that had startled her looked at them with interest, but had no intention of letting them get close and quickly slipped away. They were left standing with her back to him, her body covered only by a towel. He noticed her tense when she realized their proximity, and he excused himself to the house. When she was dressed, she joined him at the table. It was obvious he was waiting for her.

"We're not going to do this," he said firmly, and she was immediately thrown off by his tone- by the fact that he seemed to be ordering her.

"Do what?" Her arms crossed instinctively in front of her, though she had no idea yet what they were fighting about.

"Have awkward pauses, sideways glances. Uncomfortable moments that one of us feels like we should apologize for."

"Tom, you said yourself this is an admittedly awkward situation. You can't get angry at me for recoiling when my privacy feels threatened."

"I understand that, but it's not just about privacy, is it?" His tone was shifting from frustration into fear. "At some point, one of is going to get hurt and the other is going to have to heal them. Someone is going to walk in on someone changing. We live alone together, and there are going to be body parts, and moments of completely unfortunate timing." She was staring at him now, and he was practically sputtering, closing his eyes to get the words out. "And there's going to be discomfort with all of that, and that's normal. But there can't- there absolutely can't be tense moments and silences that stretch on for days because of them." He opened his eyes, and they were full of anticipated pain. "There's only two of us, and you're all I've got right now. So please, please, please, know that I'm trying to make this as painless as I can for both of us, and not punish me for the things that are out of our control."

Her arms fell from their defensive posture, and her shoulders seemed to hunch right after.

"You're right. I'm sorry. You've been. . . Incredibly understanding about this, and I've yet to thank you for that."

"I don't need you to thank me." It was a lie, but he wanted it to be the truth.

"I do." She sighed. "And I'm sorry about outside. I know that our proximity is something I need to adjust to. . . I just haven't yet."

"I know. And I'm certainly not expecting you to adjust all the way. Gods know I might not. But I need to know that when it gets to be too much, you'll talk to me, you'll tell me. I need to know that you'll trust me." His face was open, and his eyes were vulnerable in a way he'd never allowed her to see before.

"I will. I promise." She wasn't sure that it was the truth, but she wanted it to be.


	2. Closeness

Chapter 2: Closeness

"Kathryn?" His voice rang out through the trees, but he heard no response. He was worried. She'd disappeared a few hours earlier without a word, and it wasn't like her. Not since the day Voyager took off had she gone without telling him first. He searched the river, the trees, and with every step grew more frantic, breaking into a jog.

He finally found her sitting on a rock in a clearing. It was about fifteen minutes from the house, and his breath was slightly ragged, partly from his search efforts, partly from fear. He was going to tell her that she'd worried him, but stopped when he took in her posture. Her shoulders slumped and her arms hung limp at her sides. Her back was to him, but he could tell by the gentle shaking that she was crying. He'd expected her to be upset today, but didn't anticipate this.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and she tried to pull herself together. How had she not heard his foot steps? Had she the time, she would have found her command mask. She couldn't hide the evidence of her tears- she was sure she looked a mess- but she would force a smile on to her face and indifference into her eyes. She would tell him that she was fine, that whatever that upset her had passed. But now, she sat crying in front of him, her shoulders shaking under his hands.

He felt her shoulders tense, practically heard her mind racing to take control of the situation. "Don't," he said softly, "Just don't. It's okay." His arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders, and she felt the barest brush of his chest behind her head. After a few moments, she leaned her head back against him, her face slightly angled up. Her normally defiant chin and features were now stained by tears. She felt his hand gently wiping some of them away, a finger pushing hair back behind her ears. She continued to cry softly until her eyes would produce no more moisture. Eventually, she stilled but didn't move to get up.

"Sometimes this is all just too much," she said simply. They'd been on the planet for over two months now, and she was no closer to finding an answer to the virus. He saw her frustration melt slowly into despair, and neither of them spoke the name of their ship anymore. He knew, however, that this wasn't exactly what was bothering her this afternoon.

"I know," he responded, and his arms didn't move from around her shoulders. Though they'd grown comfortable with each other, affectionately familiar even, they rarely touched. He didn't want to invade her space, and she, though a tactile person, was trying to maintain some semblance of a barrier between them for her own sake. They woke up to each other every day, went to sleep at the same time every night, ate almost every meal together, and communicated their feelings wordlessly with a glance or shrug. Still, the only physical contact that exchanged between them was an occasional arm pat, or her standing behind him with her hand on his shoulder. It was what she had done on the bridge, and it never failed to make both of them feel better.

Now, she sat embraced by him, and was surprised to realize it didn't feel strange. Instead it felt safe, warm. She was continuously relieved when he didn't want or demand anymore than she gave. If he had pushed her, about their life here or about their relationship, she would have started drawing lines, defining parameters. But he didn't, and she trusted him completely. They were friends now, and she was starting to realize she couldn't imagine passing a day without him.

She sighed against him.

"You okay?" He didn't move, waiting for her to withdraw first. She didn't.

"Better."

"You scared the hell out of me." There was no accusation in his voice, only unmasked fear.

"I'm so sorry, Tom. I wasn't thinking."

"You don't have to be sorry. . . My mind just went to dark places." She angled her head farther back, looking up to his face. He was trying to force it away, to hide it, but she saw it just before it disappeared. The vulnerability, the fear of being alone. She found one of the hands that was draped gently over her arms, and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm not ever leaving you, Tom. I promise." It was a promise both knew they might not be able to keep, but it was what they each needed to hear.

"Right back at ya." Finally, she moved to get up and he drew back, waiting for her before they started to walk back to the house. He expected her to resume a comfortable distance, to put enough space between them as they walked that their shoulders wouldn't brush, even by accident. Instead, she threaded her arm through his as they plucked their way back to the house.

They were quiet all the way back to the shelter, but when they came through the door into the dining area she let out a gasp. Sitting on the table was a decorated blue cake, and a candle that had already burned its way to the end of its wick. She looked up at him with surprise.

"Happy birthday, Kathryn." Her eyes shown with tears, but they didn't fall.

"How did you know?" He shrugged.

"What matters is that it's your birthday, and there's a chocolate cake in front of us just waiting to be eaten."

They had the cake for dinner, and she realized tearing into it that the chocolate layers were separated by raspberry.

"Raspberry with chocolate is my favorite." She looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

"I'm aware." He glanced up at her from his cake.

"And blue is my favorite color."

"I know that, too." He dug his fork into this cake, and he heard her exhale sharply. "What? What's wrong?"

"I think you're making me look bad, Mr. Paris." Her face was still unreadable, and he wasn't sure where they were going.

"I don't have any idea what you mean."

"You built me a bathtub, and now you made me a birthday cake, and I haven't done much of anything for you." He put down his fork, still looking perplexed. He understood now exactly what she was saying, but couldn't wrap his mind around how woefully inaccurate her sentiments were.

"I find that statement ludicrous coming from the person who busted me out of jail and gave me my life back."

"I think you more than proved yourself before." 'Before' was how they now referred to their lives on Voyager, their existence before being trapped on the planet with each other. "You risked your life to expose a traitor, protected the crew despite that it cost you personally." His countenance darkened when she referred to Jonas and the events leading up to his death. They both knew that it had been easier for Tom to risk physical injury than to pretend to be insubordinate; to deliberately lose the trust of his coworkers and friends. She still couldn't believe he'd agreed to her request without a second thought the night that she called him to her quarters and proposed the plan. "Besides, I'm also the person who got you trapped in this quadrant, on this lovely planet. I'm not sure that I did you any favors." Her eyes were dark, and he realized that her mood from earlier hadn't improved. It had just festered into something more difficult to read. He looked at her.

"I'm not sure that one ever works off the debt of being given another chance at life." He wouldn't tell that it wasn't her fault that they were here, on this planet, on the other side of the galaxy. He knew better than to engage her occasional spirals of self-reproach. "Besides, we both know that the core of life has to do with how a person thinks about themselves, the self-respect they have. A person could have the entire universe to wander, and yet still imprisoned in their own mind. All things considered, I think that I'm objectively better off." He finished his statement with pain in his eyes, and her hand reached for his across the table.

"I'm sorry." She wasn't sure if she'd ever apologized as much as she did on this planet.

"Don't be." He held her hand, but picked up his fork again with his other. "I imagine you realize by now that I reach for big gestures, like cakes and bathtubs, because I'm not as comfortable as you are with smaller ones." She thought his statement was laughable. Maybe at one time it was true, but it hadn't been on the planet, just the two of them. She withdrew her hand, her eyes returning to her own cake.

"You know, don't you, that that's a load of bullshit." Her tone was light, but he looked at her with surprise. She shrugged, a habit she'd picked up from him, and went back to her own cake.

"Whatever you say. Katie. Katie cat. Captain Katie." A wide grin broke out on his face, and she suppressed a growl. He'd been using these nicknames on her for the last few weeks, but only when he thought her mood could use lifting. She wanted to hug him and kill him all at the same time.

"Don't think for a second that I won't drown you in the same bathtub you built."

"I would threaten to break the warp threshold and abduct you again, but it appears I'm not capable of flight at the moment." On Voyager, they'd both tried to pretend the incident never happened. It had been awkward the first few weeks; he'd avoided her, and she'd striven, despite her own discomforts, to put him at ease and return to their easy banter. Now he brought it up as though they talked about it all the time, and she didn't bat an eyelash.

"I find it hard to believe I mated with you on any planet, in any form. There's no way. I must have hit my head in the shuttle before I evolved. Been mentally impaired."

"Good to know that even though I'm quite literally the last man on the planet, you'll have nothing to do with me. I'm not sure my ego can withstand the blow, really." He laughed, and she smiled despite her bad mood.

. . . . . .

He was worried about her. The storm that destroyed her research equipment had come and gone, and she'd spent the last ten hours in bed. She never slept more than six hours, and he feared she wasn't even sleeping now. His own hopes drained from him during the storm, but he was more preoccupied now with Kathryn than with what this meant for his life.

"Kathryn." She didn't respond on the bed, her face angled to the wall instead of him. He'd tried this twice before, but now he was reaching his wit's end. "Kathryn," he repeated, though this time with frustration in his voice. He rubbed his head with his hand, and felt a wave of anger wash over him. Why did she sometimes act like this was happening only to her? He flopped down on the bed beside her. He didn't touch her, but was obviously invading her space. He didn't care. To get him up and off her bed, she was going to have to speak to him. She didn't move and didn't respond, and he felt his heart fall down into this stomach or perhaps his feet. He felt the urge to cry, but instead lay on the bed silently, his eyes on the shelter's ceiling. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

He woke up to something warm and soft against him. Blankets were over him, and though he was in the shelter, he couldn't quite figure out where he was lying. He turned his head, and realized that lying next to him was Kathryn. Her head was on his shoulder, her hand on his chest. The last thing he remembered was drifting off, but it appeared that she'd tucked both of them in at some point after that. He rested his chin against the side of her head, pressing a gentle kiss into her temple.

"I'm sorry I've been so selfish about all of this," her voice was more gravelly than normal, and he froze when he realized that she was awake. Her hand stretched across his chest, an act of comfort, and he settled back into her.

"I understand. You're losing your ship, your life's work. The chance of seeing your crew get home. It's a lot to take in." She angled her face into his neck, her breath disturbing the soft hairs that grew there. He controlled his body before it shuddered.

"You're losing a lot, too. This isn't happening to just me." Her voice was small, and though she was putting into words what he'd thought only hours earlier, he wanted to make her feel better.

"It's true." He sighed. "But it could be worse. I could be down here with Neelix. Or maybe Vorick. Neither of them seems like they'd be particularly good cuddlers." She laughed against his neck and he turned onto his side, wrapping his arm around.

"I don't know. Mr. Neelix may have proved you wrong. At the very least, he could keep you warm." She settled her face deeper into the pillow and Tom's neck. Being this close should feel horribly uncomfortable, she thought. But it didn't. She knew that neither of them would cross any lines, and that he was just as reassured by the contact as she was.

"Go to sleep, Kath." His chin again rested against her head, and they both fell into a deep and comfortable sleep.

When she finally woke, she felt groggy and her mouth was dry. She opened her eyes to find Tom sitting on the bed, running a medical tricorder over her.

"What's wrong?" She mumbled, closing her eyes again. She'd slept for over half a day. Why was she still so tired?

"You have a virus."

"So do you. Hence why we're both here." Janeway was never pleasant first thing in the morning, but Tom ignored her.

"It's a different virus. One that you may have had before we even got down here. It's probably asserting itself now that you're run down."

She mumbled something that Tom wasn't able to understand. She felt him get up off the bed, and had the irrational need to call for him, reach for him. Her head was swimming now, even though her eyes were shut. He returned to the bed with water and a hypospray. He forced her to sit up, and she gently sipped the water. He was eying her with concern, and it was starting to make her nervous.

"You're starting to remind me of my mother." She was being petulant, but didn't know why.

"I'll take that as a compliment." His tone was far too cheery for her liking and she grumbled. She tried to lay down again, but he stopped her.

"Tom, I'm tired." Her voice was somewhere between a plea and a whimper. It worried him more than the tricorder readings.

"I know. But I need you to finish your water. Then you can lay back down, I promise."

When she finally slumped back down, she fell immediately to sleep. Tom stayed on the bed monitoring her, suddenly grateful for the basic medic training he'd received before Voyager.

Hours later, she woke to find him laying next to her, a PADD in his hand. He was reading but his left arm was under her pillow, and she was pressed against him. She abruptly felt uncomfortable with absence of space between them, and inched over.

"Hey, you're awake," he said, smiling. She could barely make out this white teeth through her half-opened eyes.

"Yes, and I feel it was a tactical error. Tell me I'm not as bad off as I feel."

"No, you're going to be fine. Your system is attacking the virus, and you should be fully recovered within a day or so."

"Good," her voice was strange, distant. "What are you doing so. . . " Her voice trailed off, but her eyes looked to his arm stretched underneath her head, how close his body was to hers. He shifted uncomfortably, withdrawing his arm.

"I tried to get up a few times, but both times you woke up and grabbed at my arm. You kept saying something, but I didn't understand." She'd reached for him? She didn't remember that. Her eyes were closed now but she could feel the pressure of the bed shift as he got off it. She wasn't sure if she felt more relieved or bereft, but didn't want to examine either feeling. "You should rest. Your body needs to repair itself." She felt her head nodding, and then she fell back into sleep.

Hours later, she was awake and bored. She wanted to get up, but he was fighting her tooth and nail to stay in bed.

"So help me, Kathryn, I will tackle you if you try to get up." His tone didn't betray any humor and she tried not to get angry at him. Instead, she switched tactics. "You would physically assault the woman who saved you from prison, your only companion here on this planet?"

"In a heart beat, if you try to get off that bed." She huffed and he ignored it.

"What are you doing over there?" He was sitting where she could see him, his eyes trained on a PADD. She had to close her eyes again, as she felt painfully sensitive even in the low light of the shelter. She assumed it was a symptom.

"Reading."

"I can see that. What are you reading?"

"Honor On the River Th'lina." The novel was a Klingon classic; a story of betrayal and love, and a young man's quest to find himself after living with the dishonor of his father. He looked to her, and he could sense her boredom, her body starting to move restlessly beneath the covers. She was used to staying busy, even on the planet. He moved his chair near to her bed. "Do you want me to read to you?"

She rolled over and looked at him briefly, before her eyes closed again. "You don't have to."

He rolled his eyes. "Kathryn, I'm offering. I'm sure that you're bored. But if you don't want me to, that's fine. You just need to tell me." She sighed. He was going to make her say it.

"No, I'd like it if you read to me. . . Thank you."

He began reading, and she settled in to listen to the story. Tom was good at reading stories aloud. He didn't change his voice comically with the characters, but his inflection and voice tone were flawless. She forgot how bored she was, and became rapidly enthralled in the story.

"They were alone on the river, the mangled bodies around them. Blood colored the land like paint, and he looked at her, silently vowing he would never dishonor her in the way his father had dishonored him. She approached him, dropping her weapon, and he realized in that moment," he scrolled down the PADD, "that he had to posses her there, then." His voice grew stilted and he abruptly stopped, his eyes scanning the text below. She opened her eyes to look at him, the light hurt a little less now, and she saw that he was shifting in discomfort. She should have let it pass, but instead she smiled maliciously. She wanted payback for being held captive in her bed.

"What's the matter, Mr. Paris? Don't want to read tales of Klingon sex out loud to me?" She realized she shouldn't have said it, that she'd yet again challenged him. His discomfort shifted into resolve, a smirk now on his face. His eyes returned to the PADD, and he continued reading. Both of them colored as he read out lout the description of the frantic coupling. The anticipation; the fear and pleasure. The desperate need that would destroy them if they didn't realize it, and the feeling of flesh on flesh when they did.

Kathryn looked up at Tom, and his face was redder than his Starfleet uniform had been. She realized, too, that he was barely containing his urge to laugh. She closed her eyes, feeling a similar urge well up within her. She knew that they would both refuse to break, and so he kept reading. He continued on until the passage was over, keeping his eyes on the PADD even when he stopped speaking.

Her laughter broke the silence first. It was a genuine laughter, a kind that he'd heard only rarely since they came here. He began to laugh, too, and she covered her face with her hands, tears soon streaming down her face.

"Why do I try to best you, Tom?" She said between fits of laughter. "I know I'll never win. But I just keep doing it." He was crying as well now, as he bent over in the chair, clutching his sides.

"I don't know," he choked. "I also don't know why I keep letting you bait me. I almost always regret it." Before they stilled, their communicators chirped, and Chakotay's voice rang out inside their shelter.

. . . . .

Looking around outside the shelter, she felt bereft and then regret for feeling bereft in the first place. She and Tom were both back in Starfleet uniforms. He held himself up straight, a dutiful mask of professionalism sliding into place. It reassured her and broke her heart all at once.

"Tuvok to Janeway."

"Janeway here."

"We'll reach transporter range in five minutes, Captain."

"Understood. Janeway out."

She looked at Tom once the line had closed, but wasn't sure what to say. She needed to know that the working relationship would remain intact, but standing beside him in uniform, the last thing she was concerned about was their working relationship.

She opened her mouth to speak, but as she did, he pulled her into a hug. She should have pulled away, but she melted into him instead. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and buried her face in his chest.

"We're going to be fine," he said, and she extracted himself from his embrace. He looked at her with complete seriousness. "And above all else, I promise not to tell anyone that you like Klingon porn."

When they materialized on Voyager, he could still feel the sting where she'd punched him.

. . . . .

Janeway sat on her couch in her robe, a cup off coffee in one hand. It was late and she was nominally reading the latest engineering report, but she hadn't been able to concentrate and spent most of the time looking out her window at the stars. It was her fourth day back on Voyager, and she had one more day before the Doctor would let her go back to duty. She'd talked him down from a full week, and suspected if it had just been her that she would have been able to get it down to three. But the Doctor couldn't set separate standards for the Captain and Lieutenant Paris, and so she'd been stuck with five days of recovery time.

When she woke up now, she knew where she was. She didn't feel panicked as she did the first two mornings, she no longer woke up desperate to find Tom. She got used to the hum of the engines and the fact that everyone addressed her as 'Captain'. She hadn't seen Tom since they were released form Sickbay. She told herself that she was giving him space, but really she was avoiding him. She didn't know how to transition their friendship back to a working relationship. More importantly, part of her didn't want to. It had been nice to have someone to have talk with, someone who saw her as a person. She suspected it came naturally for Tom with his background, but still, he'd been so kind with her, so patient. She missed him now, and fought the urge everyday that they were back to go and find him.

She was jostled form her thoughts by a chime on her door. She pulled the robe tighter around her. She suspected it was Chakotay, wanting to check on her but doing so under the cover of dropping off a report or duty roster. "Come."

She hadn't suspected it to be Tom, and when he stepped in, a dozen emotions fought for control of her body. He didn't move into the room much beyond the door, just far enough not to trip the door's sensors. She wasn't sure if he wasn't planning on staying, or he didn't think she would want him to stay. It was the latter. He struggled to find his voice.

"Hey." His tone attempted casualness, but it came out stilted.

"It's good to see you." It was the truth.

"I wasn't sure." He shifted, and she wished the lights weren't so low, so she could make out his expression. "You've been avoiding me." She sat up straighter, and tried not to feel like she'd just been caught.

"I thought you. . . Might want some space." It was only partly true. And she hoped he didn't know it.

"I don't recall filling out a request for space form. Perhaps it was when we were being released from Sickbay." His tone was light, non-accusing. She was grateful. "Either way, I don't want space. But if such a form exists, you should tell people. I might fill it out in regard to Neelix. . . . Chakotay might want to fill it out in regard to me."

She laughed and patted the couch beside her. "Sit down. Before you make me more nervous than I already am." He obeyed, but when he settled into the couch, neither of them looked at each other.

"I refuse to stop being your friend." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he felt himself going on. "I know who you are as a person, and I like you. And I'm not going to use your name on duty, or go running into your ready room when I think you're having a bad day, or question your orders when you decide to go on dangerous away missions- which, by the way, you should really stop doing. But I refuse to pretend that I don't know you and like you." His outburst surprised both of them, and she propped her head up with her hand on the back of the couch, her mouth turning up at the corners.

"Is that all?"

"I think so." His eyebrows knit together, as though he wasn't sure if he was done or not. His unguarded expression made her laugh.

"You know, you were much smoother down on the planet."

He smiled, a soft smile rather than his toothy grin. "I'd like to think you brought out the best of me." They were both silent. She looked at him intently.

"I don't want you to stop being my friend either. I just worry that it's going to be too difficult on you."

"Being friends with you is hardly difficult. Frustrating sometimes. Infuriating at others. But hardly difficult." She let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm being serious, Tom."

"So am I. What could be harder here than down there?"

"There are lines. You'll constantly have to be shifting back and forth from personal mode to professional mode. You won't have the same liberties, and even when you do have them, it won't be in the same way." Her eyes were narrowing as she spoke. She was desperate to make him understand and terrified of what would happen when he did.

"I know. I do. All of it. And as I somewhat hurriedly said earlier, I know where the lines are. I won't to make your job more difficult." She look chagrined when he said this, and he realized that he'd located her concerns perfectly. She wasn't worried about him. She was worried about being able to be a Captain if someone on board knew her as something more than that.

"So. . . Have you eaten anything?"

"No. And I won't bother to ask if you have either." She chuckled at his response, standing up.

"Tomato soup? Grilled cheese?" she prompted, looking at him and he smiled wildly.

"You, my dear, are my favorite person on this ship." He followed her into the dining area.

"Well. . . You did build me a bathtub. Even if it leaked more water than it held."

The replicator whirred, and they both sat down at the table, content to again pass the time together.

When he walked toward the door to leave, she followed him. He hadn't even left yet, and she was already missing him. She realized this was going to be even trickier than she anticipated. As if reading her thoughts, he turned around to look at her. She thought he was just going to say goodbye, but instead he pulled her into a hug. She went easily, conforming her tiny body to his larger one. After a few minutes, she realized she should pull away, but she couldn't find her resolve. He found it for her, but held onto her arm even after he broke their embrace.

"I'm not ever leaving you," he said, still holding on to her. It was what she'd said to him down on the planet.

They both still knew it was a promise they might not be able to keep, but it was what each of them needed to hear.


	3. Familiarity

Chapter 3: Familiarity

As Tom exited the turbolift, he ran directly into Chakotay. The younger man cursed and backed up.

"I'm sorry, Chakotay. I wasn't paying any attention to where I was going." Paris bent to pick up the PADDs he'd knocked from the Commander's hand.

"It's okay. I wasn't paying attention myself." He eyed the Lieutenant, who was out of uniform, with interest. "I don't suppose you're going to see the Captain, are you?" Neither man lived on this deck. Both knew without question what the other was doing there.

"I am, indeed." Tom looked at him, trying not to show the dread he was feeling. "Trying to pry her out of her quarters for dinner." Chakotay whistled and Paris cringed. This was not a good sign.

"Good luck, my friend." Chakotay's voice lowered, and he looked around. "I just tried to get her to have tea with me, and she practically shoved a boot in my back to get me out of her quarters." Tom shook his head, and looked at the PADDs he'd handed back.

"What was the pretext, duty rosters?" Chakotay blushed and nodded.

"Well, I'm going in solo. Let's hope I have better luck." Paris smiled and Chakotay shook his head.

"I hope you do. For her sake. And for your safety." The Commander patted him on the back, as he called for the lift. This didn't make Tom feel any better, but he also knew that he had a better time reading Kathryn than the Commander did. It wasn't that Chakotay didn't understand her, exactly. It was just that he didn't quite know when to stand his ground, and when to run. Tom was often amused by the results. "Just remember there's no shame in retreat," Chakotay called as the lift doors closed, and Tom waved.

Walking to Kathryn's quarters, he contemplated how much his rapport with the Commander had changed in the last two years. When Tom and Kathryn first got back from the planet, Chakotay was suspicious of him and often raised concerns to Janeway in private. Matters weren't helped when, after a long and painfully boring meeting, Paris had told Janeway a series of dirty jokes in the turbolift- only to belatedly realize that he'd accidentally pressed his comm badge, broadcasting the entirety of their conversation to the bridge. Chakotay had been furious, and had marched into the Captain's ready room at the first opportunity to tell her that their friendship was eroding her authority, that rumors were beginning to spread like wildfire about the exact nature of her relationship with her helmsman. Janeway had, in turn, bit the Commander's head off, and he returned to the bridge to seethe in his seat behind Tom for the remainder of the shift.

Tom hadn't commed her that night, but she'd shown up at his door, proceeding to pace a hole in his carpet. He hadn't wanted to insert himself in the middle of her relationship with her XO, but didn't know what else to do given that she'd come to his quarters.

"Kathryn, what's wrong?"

"Infuriating. Galling. Insubordinate bull shit." She didn't even seem to be talking to him, and continued to pace as she muttered. "Where the hell does he get off?"

"Kathryn," he said, as she continued to pace. "Kathryn, stop!" She wheeled around on him, hands on her hips. "Look, this isn't really about you. Chakotay just. . . Doesn't like me. More precisely, he doesn't trust me. And he's wrong about all that, but at the end of the day, he only wants to protect you."

"By picking my friends for me? It's ludicrous!" She was pacing again, and he felt himself getting dizzy watching her. "Even if he was right about you- which clearly he's not- it's not his place to choose my friends. It's not his job to tell me who I can and cannot speak to."

"No, but it is his job to make sure the crew respects you, to make sure your decisions don't adversely affect the workings of this ship." She spun around on him, and he knew immediately that this was going to go horribly wrong.

"Are you really defending him? He attacked your character!" Her face was red, and she was letting loose her anger in a way she never did on the bridge or even in her ready room.

"I'm not defending his opinions. Obviously, he's wrong and they're your choices to make anyway. I'm just pointing out that his concerns are coming from a good place. A loyal place." She dropped her hands from her hips, and for a brief second Tom thought he was in the clear.

"Well, I'm glad you think so. You can keep him company in that loyal place." And with that, she'd stormed out of his quarters. It was their first genuine argument. She didn't speak to him off-duty for three whole days, and even on the bridge her words were spare. When she asked for a status update or called a course correction, she'd done so in an icy tone. Harry looked like he wanted to hide under his console, and even Chakotay had shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

On the second day, Chakotay had found him the mess hall at dinner. "I take it the two of you had an argument?" His voice wasn't entirely kind, and Tom had responded to the sentiment with a steely glare before returning to his tray.

"Not that it's any of your business, Commander, but you would be correct. I made the mistake of defending your behavior, and now I'm in the dog house, too." Chakotay softened but nevertheless eyed Paris a bit suspiciously.

"You defended me?"

"Yep. But I don't know that I'll be doing it again. I got nothing out of it, and I haven't exactly enjoyed the consequences." Tom's voice was bitter, but something about the way he said it made Chakotay think the young man didn't quite mean it. He slumped down in the chair next to Paris.

"I'm sorry she's angry at you." Tom wasn't sure it was sincere, but gave the man credit for trying. He shrugged, and Chakotay winced. When the Commander had begun asking the Captain questions about Paris in her ready room, she'd shrugged in exactly the same way. The mannerism reminded him of Paris, and the silent sign of their shared closeness set him off. He'd put things harshly, and then she'd responded in kind.

"Look, Chakotay. You're wrong about me. I'm not who you think I am. . . Who perhaps I once was. But I don't. . ." Paris threw down his fork and rubbed his face. He looked exhausted, and Chakotay began to genuinely feel guilty. "I can't say that I blame you for worrying. Nor can I fault you for trying to protect her." Tom didn't look at Chakotay, just shook his head as he looked at his mostly untouched food.

"And you said as much to her?"

"Yep." Paris lifted his eyes to him. "And then she stormed out of my quarters." Chakotay decidedly felt like an ass now, and he hated the fact that Paris was making him feel guilty, without even trying. Would it be so hard for Tom to be the self-centered traitor Chakotay thought he was? Was that at all asking too much?

"I can talk to her."

"Oh, no thank you, Commander." Tom shook his head. "No offense, but you're the last person I need putting in a good word for me right now." Chakotay tensed, and Paris looked at him evenly. "You know what I mean. You're not exactly high on her favorite person list either at the moment."

"True." Chakotay sighed. "So, what do we do?"

"Wait." Tom shrugged. "And when she gives us the chance, apologize for being idiots."

"And what of the fact that we weren't being idiots?"

"Do you really think that matters in the grand scheme of things?" Chakotay couldn't help but laugh, rubbing his face as Tom had done moments earlier.

"I guess you're right."

"So then we wait," Tom picked up his fork again as Chakotay stood to leave. "See you on the other side, Commander."

Standing outside of Kathryn's door now, Tom silently laughed at the memory. He and Chakotay had been uneasy companions then. And even afterward, Chakotay entertained a fair amount of suspicion toward him. But these days, especially since Tom had started dating B'Elanna, Chakotay began to like him, trust him. He even sought the younger man out for counsel when Janeway had chosen to keep Seven of Nine aboard Voyager. It had all been complicated, and Kathryn had shut both of them out for a time. But things had settled down, even if everything was different now than it had been before.

Chiming Kathryn's door, Tom stilled his thoughts. "Come," he heard from the other side of the door. He cringed. How did she manage to sound angry just saying one word?

"Hey," he said flashing her toothy grin as he entered. She was sitting at her desk reading something, and she didn't look up at him at all.

"Mr. Paris." Her voice was cold, and he wasn't sure what to do. He stood in awkward silence. "Is there something I can do for you, Lieutenant?" He swallowed his fear, reminding himself that death was probably painless. And even if not, you only have to die once.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is." She still didn't look up. "Have dinner with me. I have a few hours reserved on the holodeck, and some rations to spend." Her eyes stayed on the PADD in front of her, but her eyebrows now drew together in frustration.

"As you can see, I'm relatively busy, Tom. I don't have time for dinner."

"Kathryn, the work will be there when you get back. It always is." She finally looked up at him and he dropped the smile he was wearing, instead looking at her sincerely, affection in his eyes. "We've hardly spent any time together lately, and I miss you." At this, she sighed. Tom had become even more patient since he took up with B'Elanna. Dating a Klingon took wherewithal; the ability to withstand worse than she was throwing at him now. Kathryn hated his newfound serenity. Or at least, she did in moments like this.

"Tom, it isn't that I don't want to see you." He smiled. This was a start. "But I really don't have time to go to the holodeck. Can't we just replicate something here?" Dinner in Janeway's quarters would mean replicating food that she didn't eat, while she sat silently reading reports.

_Fat chance_, Tom thought.

"Nope. I have a new holoprogram I've been working on, and I want to try it out with you."

"Shouldn't you try it out with B'Elanna?" There was something about her tone that Tom didn't appreciate, but he refused to allow himself to be baited. If he got angry, he would leave her quarters, and she would return to working. Which was exactly, he knew, what she wanted.

"_No_. I want to try it out with you." He clasped his arms behind his back and looked at her expectantly.

"You aren't going to leave until I agree to go with you, are you?" She put down the PADD, leaning back in her chair.

"Highly unlikely." She sighed again and stood up.

"I should have taken you up on your offer to bust you down to Crewman."

"Maybe. But then you wouldn't be enjoying a lovely dinner with me on my rations." He smirked.

"Please." She snorted. "Your rations are mostly ill-gotten. It wouldn't affect you if I changed your title back to 'Observer.'"

"You're just mad you didn't win the last betting pool."

"Officially, I know nothing about the last betting pool. And I certainly didn't enter it." She looked around. "Do you see my jacket anywhere?" His brow furrowed at her question.

"Kathryn, you don't need it. You're not going to dinner in uniform." She looked at him for a moment, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to take time away from my work to go to dinner with you on the holodeck _and_ you want me to change first?" She was getting angry again, but something about her tone told Tom he had a shot.

"Well, I broke the warp barrier. Impossible things have happened before." She huffed, and walked past him.

"Yes, and we all know how _that_ went." She moved into the bedroom, calling behind her as she went. "Just give me a minute." She stopped, turning around. "I don't suppose you have any directions on how I should dress?" He shrugged, sitting down on her couch.

"Something comfortable. Something for dining, strolling. Nothing too strenuous."

"You know what fits that description perfectly- my uniform!" She disappeared into the bedroom, and he didn't respond. When she returned, she was wearing a blue dress with black heels. The dress was a thin, organic material, flattering in its simplicity. It had short sleeves and a scalloped neck, and it fell just below her knees. He smiled.

"You look absolutely lovely." She smiled despite her frustration. Tom frequently gave her compliments, but she could tell he genuinely meant them, and she appreciated the attention. "We even coordinate." He was wearing black pants and a light blue dress shirt that had long sleeves.

"So we do."

"Ready?" He asked, moving towards the door.

"As I'll ever be." He offered her his arm and she gracefully accepted it as they stepped out into the corridor. Their friendship had become an accepted phenomenon among the crew, and they no longer worried about hiding their familiarity. As they walked toward the turbolift, she felt her mood improve. After he called their destination, they stood silently for a moment. "Thank you for doing this, Tom."

"Oh? I thought I was disturbing you from you work." She knew from his voice that he was ribbing her. "I thought I was a bother and I deserved to be demoted all the way down to Crewman." The lift doors opened, and they navigated their way down the corridor.

"Oh, that's all true, too." He laughed. "But despite your being a bother, you're really quite delightful. And I appreciate that you're willing to risk life and limb to drag me out to dinner."

"Well. . . I almost turned back at one point." They stopped in front of the holodeck and he called up the program manually. "You really are quite terrifying sometimes, you know." She didn't respond, instead waiting for him to finish with the interface. When he was done, he nodded and once again took her arm as they walked through the doors. He heard her breath catch in her chest and saw her mouth fly open in surprise.

"Oh, Tom. It's Paris! How beautiful." It wasn't contemporary Paris, that was clear. There were automobiles and signs for the metro, and in the background, far removed from them, stood the Eiffel Tower. "Obviously this is before the Third World War. When is it? Mid tweny-first century?" Her curiosity was kicking into overdrive, and he smiled at the characteristic way she began to analyze data and ask questions. Even on the holodeck, she was an explorer.

"It's the end of twentieth century, kind of. I used various data sources to adapt an existing program of Paris to this period. But given the nature of the records, some things are harder to delineate when it comes to end of the twentieth century versus the beginning of the twenty-first." He scratched his head, and sounded frustrated here. Kathryn smiled. No matter how detailed and researched the program was, Tom would be plagued with the smallest historical inaccuracies.

"Well, either way, it's truly beautiful. What part of the city are we in? Is this the fifth arrondissement?" She looked around, trying to get her bearings.

"No, the fifth is over there, where the Eiffel Tower is. This is the fourth." He pointed down the street from where they were. "Down that way and over is Notre Dame." He'd modified the program to be in early summer. The evening air this time of year was refreshingly cool, but not chilly. A breeze gently moved Kathryn's dress as Tom continued to point out landmarks.

"Delightful. So what are we seeing first?" Tom looked at her, slightly aghast.

"Kathryn, we're not sight seeing. We're here to eat dinner. All of this," he waved his hands, "is just a lovely backdrop to the evening." She shook her head, incredulous. Only Tom Paris would spend endless hours perfecting historically accurate sights and sounds, just to call it 'backdrop'. He shrugged. "You can come here whenever you like and poke around. But at the moment, we're heading to dinner."

"Yes, sir." She saluted him, and they both laughed. Slowly, they plucked their way down one of the larger streets of the quarter. They paused outside a bookstore, a vendor of first editions and rare publications, and Tom waited while Kathryn's eyes took in all the wares. They continued their stroll, the sounds of automobiles and Kathryn's heels on the cobblestone punctuating the comfortable silence that settled between them. When they reached a larger intersection, Tom looked to Kathryn.

"There are a lot of restaurants on this block. Looks like as good a place as any to stop for dinner." She released his arm, turning to him.

"You mean you haven't designed one specific place for us to go?"

"No, ma'am. We can go anywhere you want. Just name the place." The amount of detail he must have put into the program was staggering to Kathryn, but she began to lead the way down the block. They passed an Italian place, and Tom wasn't surprised when she kept going. What kind of person goes to Paris and then eats Italian food? They passed a small café, though Kathryn stopped briefly to pet a dog that was sitting happily at a table with its owner. They continued on, turning the corner, and as Tom suspected, Kathryn here stopped. A few meters ahead there was a bistro. A busy place, but one where the music wasn't loud and the linens were white and crisp. She looked over at Tom to suggest going there, but then she saw his face. He had clearly expected her to choose this place, and something about that made her feel contrary. She tugged him forward, passing the bistro as he looked at her with interest.

"Nope. That's not our place. Let's keep going." He smiled ruefully, realizing what was going on, but allowed himself to be easily pulled forward by her. "Let's go there," she said, pointing across the street. It was a small place, and seemed more of a bar than a restaurant. Everyone at the tables outside appeared to be in their twenties, and Tom could clearly hear the place's music from all the way across the street.

"Are you sure, Kath?" He eyed her with suspicion.

"Yep. That's my choice." She dragged him across the crosswalk when the signal turned, and then they stood outside peering through the window.

"There don't appear to be any open tables in the dining room," he said, scrunching his face.

"We could change that," she pointed out, and his look told her that wasn't an option. What was the point of losing yourself in the holodeck if you constantly fiddled with the illusion? "Alright, then let's sit at one of those tables by the bar." They found seats and procured menus. Tom wisely chose not to comment as Kathryn took a second to get into the elevated chair that went along with the high table. He failed to suppress a smirk, however, and Kathryn shot him a quick glare. Both were interested to learn that the offering of food and drinks had a small Brazilian influence; Tom picked out a nice bottle of wine, and Kathryn began searching over the food options.

"Why don't we just get a few things and share," he said finally, after she'd debated the options for several minutes.

"Perfect," she replied, and sipped her wine. Tom left the food up to Kathryn's choice, and after they placed their order, they sat comfortably together, listening to the music and watching people. She turned back to him after a moment, and realized he was staring at her. "What?"

"Your hair. I really like it." He pronounced it as though it was serious business, and she tucked a strand behind her ear.

"You said that when I first cut it." She drank her wine, looking around the bar again.

"I know," he waved his hand dismissively, "but I'm sure you didn't listen to me when I said it then." She pursed her lips, knowing that he was right. She'd been so nervous about the change after she cut it. She didn't listen to Tom or anyone else when they'd said it suited her. Still, Tom was the only one she'd let herself prattle on about it, too. He was amazed at how self-conscious she was about her looks, not that she often gave herself the freedom to admit it.

"You know," she said pensively, her eyes returning to him. "I brought this dress with me when I came aboard Voyager. It never fit before. My mother bought it for me, and I didn't try it on before I packed it. The first time I did, it was too loose." He looked at her and fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that she was nervous she'd gained weight. She hadn't said as much; she didn't allow herself the freedom to express trivial worries like weight gain when there were real worries like low dilithium levels and problems with the warp core. Still, he knew it bothered her, and sitting across from him now she looked decidedly frustrated. He put down his wine and took her hand across the table. He was completely serious.

"Kathryn, you look amazing. Better than you ever have. Which is entirely frustrating as someone whose job it partly is tell you that you're not getting enough rest and drinking too much coffee." He wouldn't tell her that she thought she'd been too thin before, that she was more attractive now. But he would reassure her; attempt to sooth her worries. She looked away from him, about to dismiss his compliments. His grasp on her hand grew tighter, and he pressed on. "Truly. You look beautiful. And I'd rather you didn't, because now every time you beam down to some trade negotiation with an alien dignitary with questionable manners, it makes we want to grab two compression rifles and Chakotay. The two of us stand there on either side of you, just to make a point." He finished with a lopsided grin, but the genuine irritation in his voice was what pushed her over the edge. She started to laugh, dropping her face to the hand he was still holding. He laughed, too, and then withdrew his hand as their food arrived.

"So. . . The moral of the story is that your life would be easier if I gained obscene amounts of weight and perhaps shaved my head." She dug into the dish closest to her, scooping up food to put on Tom's plate.

"It would make Chakotay's life easier, too. And Tuvok's." He drained the last of the wine into her glass. "Really, it's not so much to ask."

"I'll take it under advisement, Mr. Paris." Tom looked at her to reply, but then his face lit up with surprise.

"Hiya," he said, looking past Kathryn's head. She swiveled her chair around to see B'Elanna standing a few meters away from them, the holodeck's arch behind her.

"I'm sorry," the engineer said awkwardly, "I saw that you were on the holodeck, Tom, and came to say hello." Kathryn felt inexplicably like she'd been caught red-handed at something, but forced a smile on her face as she watched her Chief Engineer sputter her explanation. "I didn't realize I was interrupting."

"Nonsense," Kathryn said with a cheer she didn't feel. "You should join us." B'Elanna's eyes darkened with something and Tom arched an eyebrow at her. It was a warning look, and Kathryn caught it just before it disappeared from his face.

"No, I've already eaten." B'Elanna's voice was pleasant now. Too pleasant. "You two enjoy the evening."

"Good night, B'Elanna." Tom called, and the Klingon nodded to them and left. For a minute, they were both silent and Kathryn frantically searched for a topic of conversation. "I'm sorry about that," Tom said, before she could fill the silence with something that had nothing to do with what just transpired. "Don't take it personally. It's not about you." Tom forked a piece of cheese but didn't move it to his mouth. "I'm not even sure that it's about me, really."

"I'm sorry if your having dinner with me causes problems for your relationship." She'd meant it to sound supportive, but it came out melancholy. He looked pained and reached for her hand again.

"Kathryn, you're one of my closest friends." His voice sounded angry, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. His features softened. "I suppose you know about B'Elanna's parents, her father?"

"The basics," Kathryn confirmed, digging into her meal again.

"With her background, I'm prepared to be supportive. Patient." The softness faded and he suddenly looked resolved. "But one mistake I've never made in my life is to apologize to a lover for having friends. She's just going to have to learn live with this, and if she doesn't, that's her problem, not mine."

"Her problems are your problems." She eyed him as she said this, before looking quickly back to her plate.

"I suppose you're right about that. But there's still only so much I'm willing to compromise." Kathryn looked at Tom and realized that beyond becoming more patient, Tom's relationship with B'Elanna had also made him more comfortable in his own skin. He was caring and compassionate, but he wasn't willing to be pushed around. By B'Elanna or anyone else.

"What?" he asked, and she realized with embarrassment that she was staring.

"You. You've changed." He looked at her doubtfully, but she ignored him. "In a good way. You're wiser now, I think." He smiled softly, but couldn't resist needling her just a bit.

"Not the same man who once read you tales of Klingon sex, eh?" Her heel connected with his shin under the table and he cursed in French. They both smirked.

"I was going to ask you to translate the lyrics of the songs that are playing, but it would be my luck that it would be something horribly inappropriate." He strained to hear the music, and then closed his eyes before looking at her sheepishly.

"Actually, this song does appear to be about sex. Specifically, the singer's encounter with two sisters." He closed his eyes again, and felt himself turning red as he started to laugh.

"Tom Paris, how can you possibly program such filthy music into a place you're taking your Captain." She shook her fork at him, and bits of food flew off, falling onto her lap.

"First, of all, you're not my Captain at the moment." She glared at him, but it was a playful glare that she didn't mean. "And second," he drawled, "you're the one that picked the place with the filthy music. I expected you to go to that charming bistro across the street that was playing Beethoven when we walked by." Her glare fell, and she laughed, putting her napkin onto her finished plate.

"I know you did. But that's exactly why I couldn't pick it."

"You always have to do the unexpected, don't you, Katie?" She ignored the dig and smiled sweetly instead.

"If it's at all possible."

"Well then," he said, picking up his glass, "to the unexpected." She raised her glass to his, clinking it softly.

"May we never cease to surprise each other."


	4. Distance

Chapter 4: Distance

When Voyager's sensors read that the asteroid belt was rich with dilithium, it was a foregone conclusion that Janeway would go on the Delta flyer herself to collect the mineral. She was getting restless, her officers knew, and Chakotay didn't even put up a fight to keep her from leaving the ship. It was also no surprise when she announced that she would be taking Ensign Jenkins as her pilot. Chakotay didn't shift uncomfortably in his seat. Harry didn't pale at his console. And Tom's shoulders didn't perceptively tense, followed by a subtle drooping of his head.

It had been just over a year and a half since the Monean home world, and he'd been promoted back to Lieutenant just recently. They were all accustomed to the current routine. Janeway didn't take Paris as her pilot on missions, and Paris' easy banter with her no longer punctuated the alpha shift. They were professional, courteous even, but the distance between them stretched on for light years. They never saw each other off-duty unless it was in a large group, or else by chance. He didn't call her anything but 'Captain', and he spent more time with Harry, and of course, B'Elanna. She spent more time with Chakotay, as well as Tuvok. Every once in a while when they would see other off shift, especially in passing, one of their countenances would darken with something- anger, sadness, perhaps even longing- but then it would be gone just as quickly as it had appeared, and everyone moved on.

Ironically enough, it had been Chakotay who had fought the hardest against Tom's harsh punishment. He'd practically had to force his way into the Captain's ready room with a phaser rifle, and his efforts had been futile. But he'd gone in just the same.

"A demotion _and _time in the bridge, Kathryn? Don't you think that's going overboard?" He hadn't even bothered to start with a soft tone. Her arms had been crossed before he even opened his mouth.

"He disobeyed a direct order, Commander. I'm not going to coddle him."

"I'm not saying you should coddle him, but I expect you to treat him fairly. You're being much harder on Tom than you were on others for similar infractions." The use of Paris' first name was deliberate, and Janeway knew it, cleansing her palms into fists on her desk.

"It's Lieutenant Paris who disobeyed me, and Lieutenant Paris who I sentenced to the brig, Commander. My response is in proportion to his behavior, and has nothing to do with personal feelings. Are we clear?" She stood up from her desk, dismissing him with her body language. But Chakotay had stood his ground, arguing with her for another twenty minutes before he finally left, infuriated.

It didn't stop him from charging in again six weeks later when she ignored Tom in public and chose another officer over him to fly her down to a trade negotiation.

"You're punishing him in public, Kathryn. And it was one thing when it was professional- to strip him of a pip and toss him in the bridge. But this is personal in nature, and you're airing it publicly just to make the pain worse." She had been calmer this time, colder. She stood at the window of her ready room looking at the stars.

"He was my friend and he betrayed my trust, Chakotay." She turned from the view port and glared at him. "Neither Tom, nor anyone else for that matter, can expect me to forgive and forget. I'll treat him as a valued officer, a good pilot. But I won't pretend, publicly or privately, that things are as they were before."

"Oh, so it was your friend who betrayed you," Chakotay had remarked with a quiet voice and an angry face. "The last time I checked, you said it was Lieutenant Paris who disobeyed you. Lieutenant Paris who you demoted and imprisoned." He'd walked out of the ready room this time, before she even had a chance to dismiss him.

Now, on the bridge, Chakotay no longer eyed Paris sympathetically when Janeway snubbed him. This ritual had become accepted, common place. And to the helmsman's credit, he bore it well. The rest of the bridge staff assumed from Tom's comportment that he didn't even care anymore. And Tom never said anything, even privately, that would contradict this. It was as though they were never friends in the first place, like the distance between them had always been there.

Janeway strode toward the turbolift, and Paris didn't turn around to watch her go.

. . . . .

As Janeway walked down the corridor to the holodeck with Tuvok, they discussed the modifications he'd made to his meditation program.

"Lieutenant Paris found a program of the caves on Vulcan, and offered to modify it for my purposes. Ultimately, the environment for meditation should not be of consequence. But it is. . . A nice change of pace." Janeway nodded, not reacting perceptibly to Tuvok's mention of Tom. Inwardly, however, she wondered how in the hell she was supposed to calm her mind knowing that Tom had designed the floor she sat on, the light from the fire that shown warmly on her face. She resisted the urge to sigh.

When they reached the holodeck, she realized that they were early. It was still occupied by the previous person. Janeway glanced at the interface, realizing that the person running the program was Seven. It wasn't a program Janeway recognized. The privacy lock wasn't engaged. She couldn't contain her curiosity. She looked at Tuvok and tried to think of a plausible excuse to barge in. She couldn't.

"I am confident Seven of Nine will find not our presence an intrusion," Tuvok said before she could speak. She smiled. He knew her so well.

"Alright, then," she said, activating the doors' sensors. When the doors closed behind them, they were standing in a green field surrounded by a wooden fence. There were trees to the right of them, a rolling hillside to the left. The sun was shining, a breeze gently pushing the leaves that had fallen to the ground. It was beautiful.

"Captain," Seven of Nine greeted. She was sitting astride a brown horse, roughly five meters from them. Janeway wasn't sure who looked more uncomfortable, Seven or the horse.

She guessed the horse.

"I didn't realize you'd taken an interest in horseback riding." Janeway smiled. It wasn't like Seven to try something new like this. Especially something that didn't obviously lead to some kind of improved efficiency.

"I have not, Captain." The horse shifted uneasily as Seven tried to pull on the reins. Janeway didn't know a great deal about horses, but she could tell the creature was getting spooked. "This program does not belong to me." Before Seven could finish her explanation, the horse began to jerk and then rear. Janeway instinctively moved forward to try to help Seven, but Tuvok stilled her. He was right; she could make it worse. Before Tuvok had the chance to call for modification to the program, a tan horse appeared from the trees, its rider bent low, urging the horse on intently.

Paris stopped only a few meters from Seven, sliding off before his horse even seemed to have stopped moving completely. Then he was at the brown horse's side, calming it and grabbing its reins. The horse quieted within moments, and he looked up at Seven.

"You alright?" He asked, squinting in the sun light.

"I am not afraid." Seven replied, eying him calmly.

"I can't say the same for Princess, here." His voice was gentle, free of mocking.

"I believe she could sense I was uncomfortable." Seven moved to get down, and Paris offered her a hand that went unacknowledged.

"Horses are perceptive of body language. They can read people." His eyes fell on the mare in front of him. "But on the upside, they don't lie. And once you learn how to read them, you'll always know exactly where you stand." Seven eyed Paris and then the horse.

"I believe horses are easier than human beings in this manner." She pronounced it as though she were solving a calculation. He smiled at her, and then patted the mare affectionately.

"You and me both, Seven." He didn't make the mistake of asking her if she'd enjoyed the program. Instead he said, "you're welcome to use the program whenever you like."

"Thank you," Seven replied stiffly, "but I believe I will require further assistance in this activity." She paused as though trying to translate her thoughts into words. It was how Seven almost always was with social niceties- like she was trying to speak a second language. "I would enjoy it if you would accompany me again. Your assistance has been quite instructive." Tom nodded in agreement.

"Of course, Seven." Tom turned to acknowledge the other two officers who'd joined them. "Tuvok, Captain." He dusted holographic dust off his pants, the picture of ease as he held onto the reins of Seven's horse. "Sorry if we ran long. But we're all finished."

"You didn't exceed your allotted time," Tuvok replied, and Tom nodded.

"Good. Enjoy your evening." Tom waved as he walked out of the holodeck after Seven, and Janeway turned to Tuvok.

"I wasn't aware Seven and Tom were spending time together." She was curious, and a bit thrown off. It had been a chore to get Seven to spend time with anyone but herself and the Doctor. She participated in group social activities, but with little zeal. Had she sought out Tom, or had Tom taken it upon himself to spend time with her? And even if he'd sought her out, why had Seven so easily agreed?

"I am uncertain, Captain. I have observed, however, that Seven of Nine and Lieutenant Paris often sit together in the mess hall, especially when Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Torres are absent. When these two officers are present, Lieutenant Paris frequently invites Seven of Nine to join them. She almost always declines." Janeway understood. Seven still didn't like groups. But did this mean she did, in fact, like Tom? Something within her felt relief that Seven was making friends of her own accord, as well as pride that Tom was reaching out to her. Something else, however, felt cold and empty, and she tried to ignore it.

"On to meditation then?" Tuvok called up the program, and the green grass and sunshine vanished, replaced by stone walls and candle light.

A few weeks later, Janeway decided to go to the mess hall for dinner. Chakotay had been chiding her that she wasn't letting the crew see her enough socially, and she decided she would make an attempt to pass more meals in public. When she walked in, she immediately noticed Seven and Tom at a table in the center. Seven was speaking, and Tom was listening with interest, though she couldn't make out the conversation. She watched them as she procured her tray, and then came closer, about to take a seat a few tables away. Tom had seen her but said nothing. Instead, he'd nodded his head at her slightly, a polite greeting. It had caused Seven to look over to where she was standing.

"Captain," Seven's neutral tone spoke, "would you care to join us?" The truth of the matter was that the last thing she wanted to do was join them, but avoiding Tom meant declining Seven as well. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Of course," Janeway said, and took a seat next to Tom. She'd weighed the options and it was better to share a bench with him than to sit across from him, staring into his face. Tom didn't welcome her warmly, but he didn't shun her either. It was the kind of non-reaction that typified most of their interactions these days. He continued eating, forking another bite as he looked to Seven.

"You were saying, Seven?" Tom said, raising the fork to his mouth.

"I do not understand the ritual of marriage. There is no obvious advantage of life-long mating as opposed to serial monogamy. Further, it seems to cause inefficiencies." Janeway glanced quickly at Tom as Seven spoke. He and B'Elanna had returned from their honeymoon only the week before, and she had no doubt that it was Tom's marriage that touched off Seven's concerns. She worked on her own food, content to be merely an observer in the conversation.

"Such as?" Tom's face was curious, his body language conveying interest. He wasn't put off or offended.

"It is my impression that when two people mate for like they often stay together, even when one or both are unhappy. It would be more efficient to end the union; for one or both mates to seek other partners and move on. Yet these unhappy parties often remain." Tom nodded, and Seven put down the utensil she was holding. "Is the act of life-long mating more important than the combined well-beings of both parties? If so, I fail to understand."

Tom attempted to reply to Seven in a variety of ways. At first, scientifically, and then anthropologically. Finally, he reflected on his own life. This answer was the one Seven seemed the most interest in. Seven opened her mouth to speak but then stopped, looking perplexed. Janeway knew this look. It was the one that Seven now got when she was about to ask a question that she (finally) realized might be too personal. Tom knew the look, too, and motioned her on without missing a beat. He was talking marriage and commitment with Seven while his former best friend sat only centimeters away from him. How much more awkward could this really get?

"You and Lieutenant Torres are from different backgrounds."

"True." Tom continued eating, looking undisturbed.

"Though sharing some character traits, such as work ethic, you ultimately have divergent personalities."

"True."

"You have twice remarked that the activities you choose to engage in together are the product of compromise, leading me to believe your hobbies and tastes also diverge."

"Also true." Tom was smiling now.

"With so many difference between you and your chosen mate, why do you believe you will be successful in a life-long commitment?" Janeway schooled her features, suddenly finding the food on her tray enthralling. Tom's comm badge chirped. It was the Doctor, and he was needed in Sickbay. It was the perfect out; the ideal get away, before which he could tell Seven that they would continue their conversation later. Janeway was shocked when he didn't take it. Instead, he leaned forward on the table, propping his head on one hand and smiling softly.

"You know, Seven, I don't know exactly." Janeway couldn't help but look at him when he started to speak. The honesty in his eyes, the serenity in his features. It was captivating, and she realized she hadn't seen him this way in some time. "What I do know is that I love B'Elanna and she makes me happy. That I would like to spend the rest of my life trying to make her happy. And though there are a million reasons why it shouldn't work- why no relationship should, really- at some point I think you just have to trust that you can read the person in front of you, and that you know where you stand."

"Like horses?" It would have been a comical question if Seven hadn't looked so intent on understanding him.

"You better believe it," he said winking at Seven, and then stood up. "Enjoy the rest of your dinner, Seven. Captain." As Paris retreated from their sight, the Captain smiled softly in the direction he'd exited. He didn't see it, and she didn't even realize she was doing it. After a few moments, Janeway returned her attention to Seven.

"Do you enjoy spending time with Tom, Seven?" Janeway hadn't finished her dinner, but the food no longer held her attention. Seven seemed to contemplate her words.

"Yes." Seven looked at the table and then back at Janeway. "Lieutenant Paris has interesting reflections on what it is to be human. He seems to respond sincerely to my questions, and is not easily offended." Seven paused. "There are times when my questions or statements may make him uncomfortable, but unlike other members of the crew, he chooses not to show this. He is. . . an easy companion." When Seven finished, Janeway smiled.

"Sounds like it."

Janeway's response confused Seven. The former borg's eyebrows knit together.

"When I first came aboard Voyager, you and Lieutenant Paris were considered friends." The smile fell from Janeway's face. "I do not understand why two people who have chosen to spend time together, who have common interests and character traits, stop considering the other a friend. Do you no longer find Lieutenant an easy companion, Captain?" Janeway sighed, not sure how to respond.

"I'm not sure that I can explain, Seven. There are many reasons two people can stop being friends. My own relationship with Tom is…"

"Private?" Seven finished. Janeway was going to say 'complicated', but she nodded at Seven's assumption. It was progress.

Two days later, Janeway was on her deck and called the turbolift. She'd volunteered to take the late shift this week, and she was heading to the bridge. The doors opened to reveal Tom. He was out of uniform, not surprising as it was his day off, and she guessed he was going to meet B'Elanna, who was just getting off duty.

"Captain," he greeted in a friendly tone, but his face remained stoic. She stood in front of him, facing forward

"Lieutenant." After a moments, she halted the lift and he looked at her questioningly as she turned to him. "I just wanted to thank you for taking an interest in Seven. Her transition to life as an individual has been a difficult one, as I'm sure you know. I think it helps her to know there are people who are comfortable with her, who like her. It helps me as well. " He eyed her for a moment before he responded, obviously picking his words carefully.

"My interest in Seven is genuine, Captain, not something I consider a duty. Don't get me wrong, she can be. . . challenging. And she rarely does something expected. But she always has interesting things to say." He smiled slightly. "And she never fails to be honest, no matter the consequences." She nodded and resumed the lift, facing forward. "Besides," he continued, "I remember what it's like to feel alone on this ship. To have someone who makes you feel that you belong- that you deserve to be here. It's a feeling I'm happy to give her." She resisted the urge to turn and look at him. Instead, she closed her eyes, willing the pressure that was now behind them to go away. When the lift doors opened on his deck, she let him out.

"Have a good evening, Tom." Her voice was warm, and he turned back around briefly.

"You, too, Captain. Good night." The lift doors closed behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts. And the throbbing feeling of regret.

. . . . .

When she came to in Sickbay, she wasn't sure where she was. She was groggy, and her throat felt dry. She tried to lift her head, but it throbbed and she immediately regretted it.

"Easy there." It was Tom's voice. He was speaking softly and pressing his hand gently against her on the bio bed. As if she'd try again to get up after the first attempt.

"Head hurts." It was more a croak than a mumble.

"That's because you were thrown against the bulkhead in the Flyer. You suffered a concussion." She vaguely remembered. There had been a gravitational eddy. Or was it enemy fire? People were always firing at them.

"Why the hell did you let that happen? You're supposed to be my best pilot." Her voice was affectionate, familiar. His face grew concerned. "Maybe Crewman Paris fits you, after all."

"Captain," his tone was professional. Measured. Something about it made her more coherent and more uneasy all at the same time. "I wasn't flying. Ensign Jenkins was. She transported you to Sickbay just before you reached Voyager. Do you remember?"

"I. . ." It was all jumbled. She remembered Ensign Jenkins' panicky voice after she slammed against the side of the Flyer. But why hadn't Tom been with her? Why in the universe had she taken Ensign Jenkins? "I was getting up to refill my coffee. The ship jolted."

"Right. What else?" Tom was still talking in the same tone and it sounded strange to her.

"I remember the pre-flight checks. Tuvok hadn't wanted me to go." She was getting random flashes, but there were gaps in between. "I remember. . . I remember having breakfast with you before I left. I told you I thought Harry had a crush on Seven." He closed his eyes briefly, glad he hadn't yet reactivated the Doctor.

"Captain, you didn't have breakfast with me this morning." They'd only shared three meals together since his demotion, all with other officers present. They never gossiped.

"Of course we did." Even with her eyes closed, the room seemed to spin. Why was he calling her Captain when they were alone? Why did this all feel so strange?

"No, we didn't. We haven't had breakfast together in two years. You ate with Chakotay this morning. Do you remember?" Two years? They hadn't had breakfast together in two years? Tom's voice continued over the confusion in her head. "Stay still and rest for moment. I'm going to get the Doc." She felt his hand move from her shoulder and she instinctively reached for him.

"Tom?" It look him by surprise. His worry intensified, but he didn't try to move from her again.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay." Her voice sounded content though still groggy. She tried again to piece together the day in her mind. Ensign Jenkins hadn't been able to get around the gravitational eddy fast enough. They'd been out for an hour when it happened. She'd announced that she was taking Jenkins with her and Chakotay hadn't looked at her. Why?

She was holding onto Tom's arm now and he was grasping her hand with his free one. She could hear him talking to the Doctor, saying that she was disoriented. Someone pressed a hypospray to her neck. She heard the Doctor's voice again, and things began to clear. She'd had breakfast with Chakotay in her ready room. He'd scolder her for picking at her food, but she'd distracted him with the remark about Harry. She took Ensign Jenkins because she always took her now. She no longer took Tom. She'd demoted him. She'd demoted him, and then given his rank back, but they still didn't speak. He had just married B'Elanna.

She and Tom didn't speak, and he was married to B'Elanna.

Before the sedative the Doctor gave her took affect, she opened her eyes to look at Tom. He was still holding her hand, looking at her with thinly veiled concern.

"We're not friends anymore." It was a whisper, a quiet utterance of disbelief. Her eyes were filling with tears, and he was looking down at her softly.

"Shh. Rest. I'll be here when you wake up." As unconsciousness over took her, her hand fell from his arm. When he was sure that she was out, he released her hand, wiping the moisture from beneath her eyes before the Doctor noticed it.

When she woke up again, she could tell that she'd been out for hours. The lights in Sickbay were low, and she couldn't see anyone. Not that she had the courage to raise her head at the moment.

"Hey," it was Tom's voice beside her. She closed her eyes. She'd hoped he was gone, and it was just the Doctor. Her face must have said as much.

"That's no way to treat your medic." His tone was light. She could hear the sound of him scanning her, but didn't open her eyes again. "Well, Captain, your vitals are stable and you'll make a full recovery. The Doc wants you to stay here for a while though, and then he'll release you to your quarters. Would you like me to reactive him now?" What was the point? Activating the Doctor wouldn't get rid of Tom. She'd just have two problems to deal with, then.

"No."

"Alright." She heard the sound of the tricorder snapping shut. "I'm going to leave you to rest, and go into the office to catch up on a few reports." She'd been desperate to get rid of him, but now that he was willing to leave her, she felt panic swell within her.

"Tom?" She lifted her head. It was a mistake, and she regretted it immensely.

"Captain? What do you need?" She looked directly up, rather than at him. What did she need, exactly? She didn't answer him. After a few moments, he pulled a chair next to her bed. She could hear the sound of his breathing, but couldn't see him. "I can't exactly say that I want to do those reports. It's, more or less, updating medical records. Boring stuff, really." She still said nothing, and then she heard him sigh, followed by the movement of the chair away from her bed.

"No, Tom, don't go. I'm sorry." Silence. "It was strange before. Disorienting. My reaction was embarrassing at best." She felt him by her bedside, but he didn't touch her.

"I've found honesty is often embarrassing." She knew the tone of voice he was using. He was probably smirking, though not at her, exactly. "It's why I find Seven so fascinating. She's never embarrassed by her admissions, her questions. She just plows along." She felt pressure welling behind her eyes again, but ignored it. She wanted to apologize to him for treating him harshly, for casting him aside. She wanted to tell him that she missed him. Even when she was angry, she missed him everyday. Eventually, she'd used the longing to fuel her anger; it was an energy source she was sure would never be depleted.

But she didn't tell him any of these things. Instead, she looked over at him, squinting in the light.

"I don't suppose you have any reading material around here anywhere?"

"I may."

"Nothing containing Klingon sex, I hope." She realized as soon as she'd said it that the joke had lost its charm. It called to mind visions of B'Elanna and their marriage, and she felt a pit form deep within her stomach. Tom didn't seem at all put off. Instead, he smiled at her attempt at familiarity.

"Lucky for you, no. But I have a PADD in the office that has a few novels on it. I've been reading Victor Hugo as of late. Would you like me to go get it?" She nodded, not able to find her voice. He disappeared into the office briefly, and then reappeared, glancing over the monitors by her bed.

"Do you think I'll be able to talk the Doctor into letting me go back on light duty tomorrow?" She asked as he sat down again next to her.

"Nope." She had gotten pretty good over the years at talking the Doctor into things he didn't want to do. She wasn't convinced Tom was right. "If it even looks like you're making headway in that direction, I'm going to remind him of all things that could go wrong; of your complete inability to take things easy once he let's you go back on duty." She briefly pulled a face.

"Oh, really?" Her voice feigned frustration, but their was a smile playing at her lips.

"Yep. You're not going anywhere near your bridge for days, my dear." He hadn't called her anything but her title since she demoted him. It wasn't the same thing as using her first name, she realized. But it was a step. This all was going to be slow and painstaking, and they both knew it.

When Tom began to read aloud, she closed her eyes, content to hear his voice transport her to a far away place and time.

. . . . .

She sat at the desk in her quarters, trying her best to get through Tuvok's tactical report. Kathryn was tired and her head was pounding. It was the same headache she'd had for days. She thought about throwing in the towel and going to bed, but she realized the pain had progressed to the point that she wouldn't be able to sleep. She pulled on her boots with effort, and left her quarters for Sickbay. As she made her way between the decks, she prepared herself for the lecture the Doctor was going to give her. Too little sleep and not enough food. Too much coffee. It was the same conversation they'd been having for almost seven years. She thought glumly that it was the perfect ending to the perfect day. She'd begun her morning wading through status reports that detailed Voyager's woefully low supplies after their episode with the Quarrens. She followed it up with a staff meeting in which B'Elanna refused to look either at her or at Tom, Tom looked only at the table in front of him, and Seven looked at everyone interest. After she'd gone off duty, she ate dinner with Seven. It was their habit to eat together on this day every week and Tom now joined them, but he'd been conspicuously absent this week and she was profoundly relieved when Seven didn't pursue the matter.

She and Tom had finally begun to find a rhythm before having their memories wiped and being deposited into an alien work force. Their friendship hadn't been as effortless as it had once been years ago, but he called her by her first name and they spent time together, sometimes alone and sometimes with Chakotay or Seven or both. They even began to use his holoprogram of ancient Paris again. Before his demotion, they'd used it often, though only with each other. Tom had taken B'Elanna once and she'd hated it, and Kathryn didn't feel right about using his program without him. Tom had even joked once, lamely, 'we'll always have Paris'. She hadn't understood the reference until he explained it to her, and then they both laughed at the fact that he'd felt compelled to explain it at all. Using the program again the previous weeks, it felt like things had begun to return to normal, that they were finding their footing and moving on in a hopeful direction. And then they'd found themselves on Quarra, and everything became more complicated. Not that they'd known it at the time.

They'd met at the restaurant; he'd smiled at her while they were both talking to other people. A dazzling smile, she thought, with bluer eyes than she could ever remember seeing. Later, he'd asked her out on a date and she'd refused him. She wanted to say yes, but wanted to make him wait before she agreed. She was surprised when he only shrugged and said "if you say so," before leaving her alone at the table. When they saw each other after that, he was always friendly and asked her how her day had been or how she was liking her new job. He was sincere in his attentions but he didn't ask her out again, and she mentally kicked herself for her stubbornness. One night, when he was leaving the restaurant, she'd followed him out, calling his name once they were a block away. He seemed surprised when he realized she'd followed him. More surprised when she pushed him against the wall of the alley, balancing on her toes to press her lips to his. Dumbfounded when she inserted her tongue into his mouth and her hand under his shirt, stroking the soft skin around his belly button as she sucked on his bottom lip. They'd barely made it back to her place before they were shedding clothes, his hand stilling her as she started to undue her blouse.

"Please, let me," he said softly, and her breath caught in her throat. He undressed her slowly, trailing his mouth down her body as he went. "Why is it I feel like I've been touching you for years?" he murmured, his mouth on her hip. He was tugging off her pants and she was fighting to control her body.

"I'm not sure that's a compliment," she'd said teasingly, and then he pressed a kiss at the top of her leg, barely on the inside of her thigh. She gasped, and he stopped speaking, concentrating his attentions solely on her body.

Now, leaning against the side of the turbolift, she tried to will away the memory. She could still remember what it felt like when Tom had returned the favor of pressing her against a wall. How he kissed her neck and mouth and cupped her breasts as he drove her slowly to the brink. The way tears spilled from her eyes, though she had no idea why, as she called out his name. The dozen times he'd touched her after that, and how uniquely intense each coupling had been.

The lift doors opened and she tried to clear her mind, walking down the corridor to Sickbay. She wanted to block out the way Tom's head hung sitting on the bio bed after they were transported back to Voyager; the mournful sag of his shoulders and the fact that he angled himself away from her even though they were on opposite sides of the room. She tried, too, to forget the look of betrayal that she saw on B'Elanna's face. A look that she didn't understand when she'd first seen it on the planet, and that had made her, regrettably, cling to Tom's waist for reassurance. She closed her eyes as she rounded the corner, taking a cleansing breath as she walked through Sickbay's doors.

She stopped short when she realized Tom was there. He was in the office and out of uniform, his chin sporting a day's growth and his hair looking like he hadn't combed it. She could see his face through the glass, though he hadn't noticed her. He eyes were glued to the screen in front of him, and he'd obviously been crying. She quelled the urge to go to him, to comfort him. She assumed she could easily guess why he was so distraught, sitting here in the middle of the night. She should go, she decided. But before she could turn to leave, his eyes moved from the screen in front of him and he was staring at her. She knew she should leave, but something about the desolation in his eyes made her stay. It didn't even feel like he was looking at her, but past her. There was no accusation or affection, or even a recognition of her presence. His eyes fell from her, and she realized he was crying again. She instinctively moved forward, coming to kneel in front of him.

"Hey," she said, cocking her head slightly to the side. She didn't touch him or ask if he was okay. She just waited patiently while his tears continued to fall. Seeing him this way caused a throbbing pain deep within her. She could only imagine the conversations he'd had with B'Elanna; both of them had been completely silent in public about the ordeal. It was more worrisome than them fighting in the open, Janeway knew. Chakotay now eyed both Tom and B'Elanna with sympathy, but his gaze darkened when it found her. Was it anger and reproach, or just regret for all of them? Kathryn suspected it was the latter but strangely wished it were the former. Anger felt so much easier to bear right now than kindness. She was jarred from her thoughts when she realized that Tom had finally begun to speak.

"B'Elanna was pregnant," he said, his tears having stopped. Her eyes went wide and she grabbed his hand despite herself.

"Oh, Tom. I'm so sorry." Kathryn wondered if she'd lost the fetus because of what the Quarrens had done to them, or because of the physical stress on her body from it all being reversed. Physical and mental stress, she corrected, closing her eyes. She opened her eyes, and Tom was staring at her intently. He understood what she was thinking- had watched it, despite his upset, march across her face.

"No, Kathryn. It was weeks ago." Kathryn's thoughts flew to the accident in engineering weeks earlier, to B'Elanna's martial arts programs. Her mind raced. "She terminated it. Weeks ago." His tone was filled with disbelief and then confusion. "The doctor told her she was pregnant and she terminated it. She terminated, and she didn't tell me." Kathryn's mouth flew open but she said nothing. Tom was still looking at her, his bloodshot eyes filled with emotion, and she was crouched before him with no voice. "When we came back from Quarra, she told me." His tone was shifting from confusion to anger now, and Kathryn felt the hand she was holding clench of its own volition. "It wasn't that she thought I had a right to know that she single-handedly made a decision about our future. No. She just wanted to tell me that she'd expected this all along, that she knew I couldn't commit to our marriage." His jaw was raised indignantly. But his eyes were filled with self-loathing. Kathryn wanted to turn away, but she didn't. Perhaps she couldn't. "She said she was surprised that it took an alien planet and temporary amnesia, but that she knew, eventually, I would screw you. And when it happened, she hadn't wanted a child to suffer as she suffered when her father left her mother." As he finished, tears began to fall from his eyes again, but this time they were tears of scorn. Kathryn knew it was an anger that was directed inward as well as outward; an anger that blocked out everything but the gnawing pain.

Kathryn was sitting directly on the floor now, tears falling from her own eyes as she lay cross-legged at his feet. She leaned her forehead against his knee, and they both cried silently in the dim light of the office. Pressed against him, she thought he'd never felt so far away.


	5. Privacy

Chapter 5: Privacy

Admiral Janeway spent her morning as she often did these days, going from meeting to meeting, answering the endless stream of HQ communiqués that were all marked as being some level of urgent, and reading diplomatic reports and strategy proposals in between. Tensions between the Klingons and the Romulans were making things difficult. Every Federation attempt to help rebuild the Romulan infrastructure was being met with Klingon protest; each conciliatory gesture to the Klingons brought outrage from the Romulans. She'd spent two hours in a meeting with delegates from each side, and then two more hours in a meeting with the brass, rehashing the first meeting.

Now, in the privacy of her office, she was tired. But it wasn't the stress of a long day, or even the chronic fatigue that followed her since Voyager docked at Jupiter Station and she'd repeatedly postponed taking leave. No, this was a moral exhaustion; a kind of spiritual bankruptcy that had been over-taking her by degrees since she set foot in San Francisco almost a year ago. She stood at her office window, looking out at the grounds of Starfleet Headquarters. Really, she wasn't actually looking at anything. She didn't take note of the gentle wind moving through the trees that framed her view. Her eyes didn't take in the sunshine, the fact that grounds were robust with flowers that had been planted for the impending graduation festivities of the Academy. She didn't see the ducks floating serenely in the pond across from her building, or the blue, blue sky that was reflected in the waters beneath them.

Somewhere, somehow, Kathryn Janeway had lost her zeal for her life. And she couldn't even be bothered to worry about it.

Her secretary commed her office to tell her that Andrew Reese was calling for her. She gently informed Kathryn that it was the fourth time that week he had tried to call her, and that he sounded impatient. She and Reese had met at a Starfleet function six months ago, and began seeing each other shortly after. He was in the Federations' diplomatic core, and was frequently off world. They rarely got to see each other, but when they did it was comfortable, pleasant. She was far beyond the age when she would try to convince herself that their relationship was a great love, an affair that would change her life. What they had together was predictable and efficient. Or at least, it had been, until she stopped returning his messages. It wasn't that she wanted to stop seeing him, exactly. It was more that she didn't care one way or the other. She had no doubt that after this time, he wouldn't attempt to contact her again. She sent the communication directly to her message service.

She pulled herself away from the window. She had to go to another meeting, though one that promised to be mercifully short. It was on the other side of Headquarters, however, and she had to give herself ten minutes or so to the traverse the grounds. Leaving her building, she was joined by two other Admirals, and they were in turn surrounded by a small flock of assistants and staffers. She chatted with them about a development with the Romulans, but if someone had asked her later to recount what was said, she would have been at a loss. The whole group turned a corner, coming to the top of a large stair case that led down to one of the main paths that cut through the HQ campus. The path below was long and wide, and every few meters there was a bench or small fountain. When she reached the first step, her eyes fell to a group of officers that stood around the first fountain. They were chatting and laughing, and one of the men was gesturing with great zeal to the others, deeply involved in the recounting of some story. The sound of one of the men's laughter found her, cut through her through, and she froze on the step she stood on.

She knew, even with his back to her, that it was Tom. His hair was blonde in the sun; his back and neck were straight, and his head held at an angle that conveyed effortless confidence. He was in full uniform, yet something about his posture said that he could have been in civilian clothes for all it mattered. She remained on the first step, and the group that she'd once been in the front of fanned out around her, continuing on down the steps.

She hadn't seen Tom since Voyager had docked. He and B'Elanna had quietly divorced as soon they'd entered Earth's atmosphere, and he'd taken a Federation assignment in Europe, working on ship designs. Kathryn was somewhat surprised when she learned that it was Tom who'd petitioned for divorce. She was also profoundly relieved he would be living on another continent than her, though the relief carried a kind of heaviness with it rather than making her feel lighter.

After she'd found him in Sickbay that night, they never again saw each other off-duty. He was rarely seen in the mess hall or on the holodeck. He stopped spending time with Seven; a decision that Janeway accepted but felt all the more guilty for. Seven hadn't understood, and the fresh sense of loss in the young woman's eyes reflected what she herself was feeling. He didn't look at her, even on the bridge. And when he sat at the helm, his back to her, his shoulders seemed to sag, as if carrying a heavy weight. The only time he'd dared to look at her at all was when her future herself had come to Voyager, just prior to their return to the Alpha quadrant. Tom had stared at the older Janeway, and then back at her, as if trying to wrap his mind around what his eyes were telling him. He had been distracted enough, mercifully she thought, not to notice the way her future herself had in turn looked at him. It was a look that had made her stomach churn at first, and she frantically worried that the older Janeway was looking at someone who was no longer present in her timeline- someone who was dead and gone. But then, as she watched, she surmised that death wasn't that kind of loss that Admiral Janeway was experiencing.

It was the look of seeing a lost love. And upon realizing it, she'd shut her eyes to block out the image of her own face, however aged, looking at Tom with unmasked desire and regret. She'd tried to convince herself prior to Quarra that her feelings for Tom were only platonic, and she'd done an impressive job. After Quarra, it was, of course, more difficult. But the excuses and explanations in her head continued. She began to tell herself that it was simply the vague recollection of closeness, of familiarity, that had drawn her to Tom. That what had happened between them on Quarra was regrettable given their actual situations, but that it meant nothing regarding the feelings they had for each other in their real lives.

And then, watching herself watch Tom, all of her self-deception was stripped away. She loved him. And she lost him. And it was plain as a day. Not surprisingly, B'Elanna had seen it, too, and she watched the engineer regard Admiral Janeway with curiosity. When the Klingon's eyes then met her own, she expected to see loathing or accusation. But she didn't. Instead, B'Elanna had looked at her with sympathy; a sudden softness that she found too much to bear. When the meeting they were in ended, she'd fled the briefing room, away from B'Elanna's sympathy and the reflection of her own longing, as fast her legs could carry her. She'd felt like she'd had her skin pulled back, her most private thoughts exposed for the universe to see. When she returned to the bridge, she tried to look anywhere but forward. Anywhere but the back of Tom's head.

Now, standing on the steps of Starfleet Headquarters, she couldn't remember the gnawing pain that settled in her stomach then. Instead, she stood watching Tom, and he, as if by empathic command, turned around. There was twenty meters and fifty people between them, but his eyes found hers immediately. There were people all around, the last of the group descending down the stair case. Everyone else around them fell away, and she didn't move. After a beat, maybe two, he smiled at her. It was smile that lit up his entire face, and his blue eyes shown with a happiness she hadn't seen in him in years. She felt the breeze rustle her hair, heard the leaves that circled lazy patterns on the path and stairs between them. She saw his face framed by the crystal blue sky that was beyond.

She realized that someone was calling her, and she belatedly looked to them. It was one of the other Admirals. She'd now fallen significantly behind the group, and he was looking at her with impatience. The Admiral called to her again, but after she responded, her eyes automatically looked for Tom. She couldn't find him now, and she searched the crowd feverishly as she made her way down the stairs to rejoin her cohort. As they passed the group of officers he'd been standing with, she craned her head left and right to try to spot him, but she didn't. If she'd been alone, she would have stayed, asked the officers standing there if they could tell her where Tom went. But she wasn't, and she was now running late. The reality of her life came crashing back to her, and she continued walking down the wide path. Still, every few meters, she glanced behind her.

. . . . .

In her apartment, Janeway threw clothing haphazardly into a bag. She realized with regret that her civilian clothes were desperately in need of updating, but she didn't have the time or the patience to deal with it now. She put her hair into a ponytail, it was just long enough to be pulled back, and slung her bag over her shoulder. Walking to the transport, her free hand tapped a nervous rhythm below her hip as she walked briskly.

It was one day since she'd seen Tom at HQ, or rather, thought she'd seen Tom at HQ. Afterward, she'd sat impatiently in meetings, not hearing anything that went on, until the end of the day. Then, she'd made her way to Admiral Paris's office, asking his secretary if he was able to be disturbed. The brunette woman had looked at her with interest; Janeway and Owen Paris sometimes ate lunch or met in his office, but she never showed up unannounced to speak with him. His secretary announced her, and she strode into his office like the lobby was on fire.

She'd made it through five painful minutes of small talk before she'd practically blurted out that she'd seen Tom. He looked at her with confusion, but she hadn't noticed, asking instead how long he was staying in San Francisco and what he was doing at HQ.

"Kathryn," Owen said, eyeing her carefully, "he's not in town. He has a design deadline at this week and hasn't been able to get away all month." Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. She would know Tom anywhere. There's no way she mistook someone else for him standing there below her, smiling up at her as he had long ago. Smiling at her as he had before everything had collapsed in on them. She suddenly felt woozy, and Owen seemed to sense it, pressing her to sit down. "Kathryn, I haven't pushed the issue before, but you haven't taken any leave since you left Voyager. I know you took the mandatory medical leave required then, and I can't order you, exactly, to take leave now. But I'm worried about you. You need rest." She kept her eyes closed as he spoke, and she sipped the cold water he'd handed her moments earlier. Had she really imagined Tom standing there? Was she so tired of her real life that her mind was starting to create illusions for her as a way out?

"Maybe you're right." Her voice sounded feeble, small.

"You have weeks and weeks of leave built up. Why don't you take some time now? I can make sure your commitments are covered." She felt herself nodding, and heard Owen begin to make calls, pulling favors to get her out of negotiations and meetings to which she was already committed.

Her leave began immediately, and it was three weeks. As she rapidly strode toward her destination, she pushed away doubts about what she was doing. Before she'd left Headquarters the day before, she'd tracked down Tom's address. The job he had taken was in Paris- a fact that gave her enough hope to power a small starship- but he'd taken up residence to the southwest, in an area that sat nearly astride the ancient boundaries that delineated Brittany from Normandy. She was scheduled to transport there in fifteen minutes.

In fifteen minutes, she was going to be on the same continent, in the same town, as Tom Paris.

Once on the transport pad, she nodded to the transporter operator, stilling her fidgeting hand at her side. The officer, a young man with light hair like Tom's, nodded back, and she felt the familiar tingle as light engulfed her.

The air was cooler when arrived. It wasn't cold, but chilly. It was afternoon in Saint James, and when the sun finally set, the air would be nippy, the heat of the summer not having set in yet. The transporter operator in town had given her directions to Tom's street. She walked through the town slowly, taking in the sights; trying to picture Tom here, going about his daily life. Saint James was big enough to be considered a town, but not large enough to be considered a city. The street names were a mix of French and English, and she followed one of the main streets, passing an ancient cathedral and a small farmer's market as she plucked her way. She turned down a side street. According to her directions, Tom's place was only a few blocks away. She passed a small café that had a small crowd despite that it was early afternoon.

It felt like she sensed him before she saw him. As though she knew, as soon as she saw the café and the people that gathered there, that she'd find him here. He was sitting outside, roughly facing her, but his head was at an angle and he was chatting with two older men. Both of the men held shopping bags in their hands, one of them was sitting and one of them was standing. They'd probably been walking by and stopped just to say 'hello'. There was a couple about Tom's age at the next table, and their little girl skipped back and forth in front of Tom and the men. Her hair was impossibly blonde, as Tom's had been when he was younger, and Tom and the men talked to her in French with wide smiles and shining eyes. She was about ten meters away from them now, and she heard one of the men say something to Tom that made him laugh. Tom chuckled, running his hand through his hair. Kathryn froze.

He looked so happy. As if none of the last four years had happened. As if he hadn't had a failed marriage, or been demoted, or lost his best friend in between. She thought at once that it was selfish to come here, that it was a mistake to invade his privacy. To invade his happiness. She made up her mind to leave, but just as she did, he looked up and his eyes met her. Tom looked at her serenely, and then smiled a dazzling smile. It was the kind of smile she'd imagined the day before. It warmed her from the inside out, and she found the will to move her legs. She couldn't hear his voice, the men he'd been with were now leaving as if by silent cue, and there was the sound of goodbyes and scraping chairs. Still, she saw his head cock to the side and watched his mouth pronounce 'hey' as she continued walking toward him.

When she reached him at the table she wasn't sure what to do. He didn't stand to greet her, but this didn't quite worry her given the way he was smiling at her. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and Tom leaned back in his chair.

"They have amazing espresso here," he said, pushing a metal chair toward her with this foot. She dropped the bag she was carrying into another chair, and sank down into the proffered one. He looked at her, and she looked back, but neither said anything.

"Hello," she finally said, lamely. His eyes wrinkled and he chuckled softly.

"Hello, yourself." She tore her eyes away from his face, and looked around them.

"Tom, this is all beautiful. I can see why you'd want to live here." A server appeared next to them, and Tom ordered her a coffee. She was grateful for the gesture; it bought her time to stare at him while he conversed with the server. When the man left, Tom was looking back at her. She knew he was waiting for her to speak. "I was surprised when I found out your job was in Paris." Her voice was neutral, matter-of-fact. Her eyes were anything but. He nodded.

"It was a dream job, really. The location was a bonus." He looked at her and the smile fell from his face. "I tried to live in the city for about a month, but I couldn't do it." He could have meant because of the traffic, the noise, the expense. His voice told her, however, that it was none of these, and she felt pain well within her. "Everywhere I looked, I saw you. I thought maybe it would be nice, that the memories of the ancient version of the city would keep me company." He shrugged. "Instead, they haunted me. I found this place through a friend and never looked back." His words could have conveyed a darker sentiment, a desire not to see her, not to think about her. But his eyes were watching her affectionately while he spoke, and his body was unconsciously angled toward her in his chair.

"You've been haunting me, too," she replied, not even considering her words. "Yesterday at Headquarters, I thought I saw you. I thought you were there and that your eyes found me across the crowd, and that you smiled at me." She shook her head at the memory. "I found your father afterward, and he told me that you hadn't left France all month." She sipped the coffee the server had brought her, looking into the cup to see if there were answers inside it. "I decided I had to do something, had to change the course my life has been on." Across from her he was smiling gently, but there was something else playing in his face.

"And so you decided to find me? You came here?"

"Without so much as a second thought." He looked at her. "Well, maybe a few second thoughts. But they were after I'd already packed and left the house. And I didn't think your father would let me back on HQ grounds until I took the leave anyway." They both laughed, and Tom scratched the side of his face.

"So you did all of this, made this decision, because you saw me? Or rather, because you thought you saw me?" His voice was bit incredulous.

"I decided if I'm so unhappy as to see things that aren't there just for relief, it's time to do something different." She was earnest as she said it, looking at the table between them as she deciphered her thoughts. In front of her, she heard him laugh out loud, and when she looked up he had his hand clamped over his eyes, his shoulders shaking with waves of mirth. "I tell you that I'm cracking up- that I'm profoundly unhappy with my life- and you _laugh_?" She couldn't hold onto the indignation, and was laughing herself by the time she finished the question. They sat their laughing for a minute, before he reached across the table and took her hand. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Kathryn," he said, a rueful expression coming to his face, "you didn't imagine me. I was there. At Headquarters. I came to see an old friend who was back from a mission in the Beta quadrant." Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.

"But your father. . ." She looked positively dumbfounded, and he felt both amusement and pain for her.

"Kathryn, I didn't tell him. Things are still not. . . Our relationship still isn't easy. I don't advertise when I have time off, or when I'm coming to Headquarters. I put in my time with him, and I try to work at our relationship. But I also won't sacrifice my sanity." She closed her eyes, absorbing what he was telling her. She hadn't imagined him. He'd really been there, smiling up at her under the San Francisco sun. She heard him laughing again, and opened her eyes to see him shaking his head at her.

"What?" she asked in a tone that he hadn't heard in some time. It had an edge, but it was playful. Whenever she used it, he knew that he had her.

"You," he replied smiling ."You made this colossal decision because you thought you'd imagined something that was, in fact, real." His face grew serious. "What if my father had known I was there? What if you'd seen him and never had to question whether it was real or not?" Her eyes fell to the table again, and her mind spun. She would like to think that seeing Tom would have pushed her to action on her own. She'd been so galvanized after she saw him, so manic and alive. But there were also a pile of excuses for her to hide behind, and an ocean between them. He saw the thoughts pass over her face, and he squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you thought you were crazy." He smiled at her. It reminded her of the previous day.

"You saw me," she began, her voice low, "there were fifty people around us and I was on a staircase meters from where you were. And you saw me immediately." Her voice sounded far away. "It was like there was no one else."

"I would find you anywhere, dear." It was true. She placed her other hand on his, holding on to him like he might be figment of her imagination just yet.

They sat in silence, hands clasped, for almost an hour. They were surrounded by people, but were alone in the privacy of their affection.

. . . . .

After they left the café, he led her to his house. It was only a block and a half but they made their way slowly.

"Aren't you going to give me a tour of the town first?" Her face was innocent. He wasn't buying it at all.

"Are you really telling me, Kathryn, that you haven't already given yourself a tour?" She didn't answer him, but looked sheepish. "Kathryn Janeway," he pronounced, "explorer in any quadrant." She laughed and his hand found hers.

"So," she drawled, "did you just construct an imaginary project to dodge your father, or are you really working on something important?" There conjoined arms were swinging between, and Kathryn couldn't remember walking like this way with someone even as a teenager.

"No," he supplied, "I was working on a new prototype. But the deadline was two days ago and I'm now enjoying some time off."

"You're off work right now?" She stopped, inadvertently yanking him as she did so. He nodded.

"I don't have a lot on my desk for the next few weeks. Summer is just beginning. The weather is gorgeous." He said it as though it all made perfect sense, as though it was common place.

"You took time off because the weather's nice?" She was incredulous. "And because, essentially, you can?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Two weeks." They began moving forward again, and he cast a glance sideways at her. "How long do you have?" A week, he knew, meant she needed time to organize her life. Two weeks meant she thought she might be completely losing it.

"Three weeks," she replied, trying to keep the exasperation from her voice. He whistled.

"My father must really think you're cracking up. Did you start calling people by my name or something?" He smiled, and she glared at him.

"No." She tried to put weight in her voice. "He just. . . Thought I was tired." With her free hand, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Other than the required two weeks we all got, I haven't taken any time off since we got back." This time it was his turn to stop and her turn to be yanked. They'd been walking for two minutes, and they'd barely made it ten yards. At this rate, they would lucky to make it to the house by nightfall.

"You haven't taken _any_ personal time?" His tone of voice went past disbelief and into accusation. It was the same tone he'd used when she'd skipped lunch and then tried to skip dinner when they were on the planet together. She shook her head. If this wasn't the first time he was seeing her in over a year, if the last time he saw her it hadn't been marred with pain and shame, she would have had a lecture coming. She knew it, and thought sarcastic comments about silver linings. They continued on in silence, their hands still clasped between them.

After two minutes, they stopped in front of a stone cottage with green shudders. A wooden fence, painted white, surrounded the property, and in front there was a trellis overgrown with flowering plants.

"This is where you live?" She sounded surprised.

"Yep. The bones of the property date back about five hundred years, so I got a pretty good deal on it. But most of the house's construction is less than fifty years old, and was designed to look older." He put his hands on his hips, looking at the front yard. "Still, I've done a lot of work on it, and there's a lot more left to do." The property was cozy, warm. In each window there was a planter, brimming with blooming flowers of purple and gold. There were stepping stones that led around the side of the house and disappeared into the back. They were obviously real stone, not ceramic, and their color coordinated with the hue of house.

"I love it," Kathryn breathed. Tom looked at her and smiled.

"Come on, there's someone inside who'll be happy to meet you." She didn't know what to make of this, but gamely followed him through the yard and up to the door, where he keyed in his code.

"What? No archaic locking mechanism? I'm surprised." He heard her voice from behind him.

"Funny you should say that," he said, opening the door wide. "_That_ is my very next project." She snorted as she wiped her feet on the mat before entering.

The cottage was much brighter than she anticipated, as well as more spacious. Large windows flanked either side of the living room, and the furniture in the front room was an eclectic mix of styles and colors. Kathryn closed the door behind him, and Tom pulled off his shoes, setting them on the wood floor beside the fire place that was at the front of the room. Within seconds, a clamoring of paws could be heard on the floor of the hallway that was to the left of the fire place. Then a golden retriever appeared, whining and desperately trying to lick Tom's face as he crouched down to meet her.

"There's my baby," Tom said, scratching the dog's ears affectionately. Tom settled on the floor and Kathryn soon joined him there.

"And who is this?" she asked, as the dog licked at her hand and rubbed against her arm. The dog was almost full grown, but her paws were still a bit too big for her body. She easily slid and stumbled on the wood floor.

"This is Neelix," Tom deadpanned. For about ten seconds she actually believed him, and looked at Tom in horror. He laughed at her, and she rolled her eyes. "I named her Gavroche. But I call her Gavvy for short."

"From Hugo?" Tom nodded, content to bask in the affection of his dog. "Isn't it a little sad to name a dog after a character that dies tragically? Besides, Gavroche is a boy's name." Tom feigned hurt before bringing Gavvy's face close to his.

"Don't you listen to her, baby. You're beautiful, and so is your name." The dog licked and licked at Tom's face, and he tried to dissuade her. Kathryn laughed, rubbing Gavvy's back. Eventually, Tom pulled himself up off the floor, extending Kathryn a hand once he'd risen. Gavvy whimpered and looked between them, following Kathryn into the kitchen as Kathryn followed Tom. "Are you hungry, Kath?" She was a bit hungry, but she suddenly felt so nervous that she couldn't think of food. She shrugged and he nodded. "We can go into town for dinner tonight, but in the mean time there's some fresh cheese and bread on the table if you'd like to nibble on something." Neither the cheese nor the bread were replicated. Tom had bought them in the market the day before, along with various fruits and vegetables that had been grown locally. He liked buying real food, and knowing where it came from. He felt it anchored him, and he swore that replicated bread could never match freshly baked in taste.

She tore off a piece of bread from the loaf and popped it into her mouth. Eating saved her from having to speak, and she looked around the kitchen as she chewed slowly. They didn't sit down at the table that was in the room, but instead stood leaning on chairs. Kathryn looked out the window at the backyard, and Tom looked at her not looking at him. When she turned back to him, his face looked resolved, as if he had just decided something. It was the same look he'd gotten on Voyager whenever he figured out why one of the nessels was dragging.

"Come on," he said, and took her by the hand back into the living room. He picked up her bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and took her up the stairs to the cottage's second story. The ceiling here was lower than the first floor. Not so low as to feel cramped, but just low enough to feel cozy. He led her down the hallway and they passed what she assumed was a guest bedroom, but Tom didn't stop. Instead, he led her down the hall and into his bedroom, setting her bag down on the high dresser that was beside the door. "The master bathroom is in there," he said, gesturing at a door across from his bed. "You're welcome to use the one down the hall, of course, but the master has a bath tub. A feature I, admittedly, never use."

"Perfect," she said, smiling and trying to sound casual. Really, she was terrified. They were in his bedroom. By his bed. And she couldn't decide if this was exactly what she'd come for or if she wanted to bolt down the stairs. Her discomfort was evident in her posture, and Tom resisted the urge to sigh.

"Kathryn," he said softly, "I thought you might want to take a nap with me."

"A nap?" her voice sounded relieved despite her best efforts. He didn't feel like beating around the bush.

"It's lovely to see you, and I'm so glad that you're here. But I'm as scared about all of this as you are, and I'm not looking to do anything quickly. Sleep, however, I think I can handle." His openness now reminded her of their first day alone together on the planet, after Voyager left. She'd been doing her best to reassure him, but he'd seen through it all and reassured her instead. She closed her eyes, feeling color creep across her cheeks. "Besides, I'm surprisingly tired from my busy day of doing nothing, and you, it appears, haven't taken a break in a year. We could both could use some rest."

"Sleep," she repeated. "I think I can do sleep." He grinned, and began to turn down the bed.

"The guest room is just down the hall, if…"

"No." She cut him off with a speed he didn't expect and she didn't quite intend. She could feel the color on her cheeks deepening. "Taking a nap here, with you, sounds nice." She looked at him as he crawled into the bed, and decided her words were woefully inadequate. "As a matter of fact," she amended, sitting down on the bed, "it's probably the best offer I've had all year." He laughed at this as he laid down, settling into his pillow and pulling the blankets over himself. She kicked off her shoes and followed suit. They each lay on their own side of the bed, an arm's length between them. Gavvy jumped onto the bed, having followed them into the bedroom, and curled up at the bottom of the bed, below their feet. Tom closed his eyes, feeling content. Kathryn sighed and mentally kicked herself.

"What's wrong?" His voice was already starting to sound groggy. She scooted over to him, her legs gently pressing against his. She angled her head below his chin, and he wrapped an arm around her torso. Despite all that had happened between, on Quarra and before, they hadn't laid like this in seven years.

"Much better." When she spoke, her breath disturbed the soft hairs at the base of his neck. This time, he allowed himself to shudder.


	6. Intimacy

Chapter 6: Intimacy

They stumbled into the house laughing, their faces flushed from the alcohol. Their voices were louder than they needed to be, but neither one noticed.

"I'm convinced you did this just so you could win at pool," Kathryn said as Tom rummaged around in the closet by the entry. She flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh.

"Did if ever occur to you," he began, still rummaging, "that I don't need to get you drunk to win a game of pool?" She paused.

"No." He held up his arms in mock exasperation and she laughed. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and joined her by the couch. He held a detox hypo in his hand, and tinkered with the setting before he used it on himself. After he was done, he sat down next to her and reset the hypo before handing it to her. She glanced at the setting. It wasn't enough to eliminate the buzz entirely, but was still high enough to prevent any adverse affects of the alcohol the next day. It was probably a wise decision, but she was still a little sad to give up her current feeling. Which was uncharacteristic for a woman who hated not being in control. She pressed it to her neck, and immediately felt her head begin to clear. "You know, if you were that desperate to win, I could have just thrown a few games." Even (mostly) sober, she wanted to rib him.

"Well what fun would that be?" He propped his head up with his arm on the couch. "Besides, it's been a while since I got you drunk with real alcohol."

To be exact, it had been five years. The crew had been granted shore leave on a hospitable planet with a friendly government. Kathryn had tried to barricade herself in her ready room, but Tom had dragged her out, threatening to transport her directly from her ready room if she didn't cooperate. They'd just lost Kes, and Kathryn was struggling to help Seven of Nine. She was exhausted and needed a break. And they both needed a good cheering up. When they'd staggered back to her quarters after beaming back from the alien bar, he produced a detox hypo from his pocket and sprayed them both with it. As soon as she'd sobered, she yelled at him for letting her transport back to the ship and then walk the seemingly endless distance back to her quarters, still drunk and trying desperately to hide it from passing crew. He'd smiled at her, and asked if it reminded her of sneaking out of the house when she was young. It had. Especially when the Ensign operating the transporter had eyed them suspiciously. Her anger dissolved, and she laughed at him. He would be forgiven for this. But only once.

"Even with the alcohol, I still kicked your tale," she taunted now. They'd had dinner at a restaurant in the center of Saint James. It was a small place specializing in seafood, and Tom had become friends with the owner. Across the street, there was a bar, and Kathryn could see the pool table from outside. They went in, and she'd won the first game decisively. When he ordered a bottle of Calvado- a hard cider made from the apple orchards that dotted Normandy- his odds improved. But not by much; she'd won three of the next five games.

He shook his head at her, smiling as she taunted him. There was a spark between them- an almost palpable burst of sexual energy. It had happened several times that night, and they would both be lying if they said their friendship on Voyager hadn't been punctuated with these moments. She wanted desperately to kiss him, had been hoping most of the night that he would kiss her. But then they'd begun to drink, and Tom silently decided that he refused to make any kind of move until they were entirely sober. It was bad enough that their only sexual experiences of each other occurred when they had no idea who they were. He didn't want to do anything unless they were fully themselves. No matter how tempting it was once the alcohol had pried free their inhibitions. He smiled gently at her, and the moment passed.

"It's late, but I'm not tired at all." She leaned back on the couch, resting her head on the cushion.

"You're still on California time. And I'm sure our nap didn't help that either." He scrunched his face slightly, an apology for making her transition to French time harder. An apology for selfishly wanting to be close to her.

"No, it probably didn't," she conceded. "But it did help my mood." She turned her head sideways to look at him and he winked at her.

"Mine, too."

They'd woken that afternoon, a tangle of arms and legs. Kathryn hadn't thought she would be able to sleep being so close to him, and had tried to just enjoy the contact. She'd underestimated how tired she was, however, and not long after Tom dropped off, she'd passed out. When she'd woken up, her leg was inserted between his more muscular ones and she was curled entirely into him, the front of their bodies flush. One of his arms was under his pillow and the other was wrapped tightly around her, his hand resting on her lower back. She thought he was still asleep, and tried to stay still, nuzzling her head further into the crook of his neck. Then she'd felt his lips against the top of her head, and she sighed, appreciatively. He'd been awake longer than she had, but didn't have any interest in going anywhere. Gavvy, too, had moved in her sleep, now lying across their legs. The dog's weight was warm but not uncomfortable, and they'd stayed there for half of an hour- a warm, contented mass.

"If we'd stayed on the planet any longer, I may have started sharing a bed with you." She'd confessed, before they moved to get up. He was surprised, but didn't show it. "Don't get me wrong. I would have needed an excuse, a nightmare or some other disturbance. And it wouldn't have gone any farther than cuddling for sometime." He waited for her to go on. "But when you flopped down on my bed after the storm and we ended up laying like this." She paused. "I think it was the safest I ever felt the seven years we were out there." He'd held her a little tighter, and then she could feel him smiling against her.

"To be clear, we didn't lay exactly like _this_." He lifted his arm slightly to demonstrate their positions, and she'd smirked.

"No, I guess not. But even then, my sanity had boundaries." He'd chuckled against her and she'd angled her head to look at him. "On the planet. Did you ever. . . Have feelings for me?" Perhaps it was too soon to ask. Perhaps she hadn't yet earned the right to pose such intimate questions. But it didn't occur to her, and he hadn't seemed to mind.

"Yes," he'd breathed, "or, at least, the beginnings of them." Tom shook his head slightly, becoming lost in thought. "But feeling that for you then. . . It felt like a betrayal. Like I was risking the balance we'd created, violating your trust. I pushed the feeling away, buried it under my sense of friendship and my loyalty." She'd pursed her lips, moving her head back to its original position by his neck.

"I suspect that's why it was so easy with us there. I trusted you. You never asked or expected more than I could give." Her mouth was almost touching his neck, and his body muffled her voice. "I suspect that's also why it wouldn't have taken me long to fall into a relationship with you if we'd stayed." Kathryn couldn't see his eyebrows knit together.

"But you didn't have feelings for me then." It hadn't been a question. And she knew he was right. While Tom's feelings for her began there, it was on the planet that she learned to think of him as an equal, a friend. It was only later, around the time he'd begun to date B'Elanna, that Kathryn's feelings turned. If pressed, she would have denied it. And if pressed more, she would have said that it was just the jealousy of losing the attentions of her friend; the loneliness of the Delta quadrant finely catching up to her. She wouldn't have been entirely wrong, either. But Kathryn knew now that it had been more than that.

"No, I didn't," she'd confirmed. "But it wouldn't have taken them long to develop given where we were in our friendship."

"It would have taken longer for you to act on them." Tom thought it would have taken even for longer him to lose the feeling that he was betraying her by reciprocating, but he hadn't added this.

"Probably." She'd closed her eyes and imagined their life on the planet. Waking up to him every morning of her life, his blonde hair turning to white but still shining in the sunlight. His eyes staying just as blue. "But I think we would have been happy." He pulled himself slightly up to look at her, disturbing the mass of limbs. Gavvy grumbled. Tom eyed Kathryn evenly.

"I think we would have managed. I think we would have accepted our situation and found a way to move on. But every time you caught me looking up at the stars, you'd feel a coldness settle in your chest. And every time you got a far away expression, I'd wonder if you were missing your ship, your life." His voice had been intense, but his eyes soft, and she'd stared, listening to him. "We would have loved each other, and there would have been infinite moments of joy. But there would have been just as many feelings of regret. We would have curled up at night with the fear between us that we each were a sad consolation prize for the other."

His words could have been taken as cold or insensitive. But his face was warm, and the arm that was over her held her tightly. He didn't want to approach their relationship with fairytales and romanticized 'what ifs' between them. After his marriage, he wanted honesty and openness, and wouldn't settle for anything less. She understood. Or at least, she understood enough.

Now, sitting on the couch, they looked at each other as they had after he'd finished his monologue in bed that afternoon. It was a look of affection, and understanding.

"You know," he said changing the subject, "you could go take a bath." She'd admittedly evaluated the bath tub earlier, when they were getting dressed to go to dinner. It was built to look like it was older, and had brushed nickel fixtures and elegant lines. But it was much bigger than a real period tub, being long and wide. It earned high marks in every category.

"And what will you do while I'm busy taking up your bathroom?"

"Call my father, for one. And take Gavvy for a walk." Her head had shot up, off the couch, at the mention of his father.

"I assume you aren't going to tell him. . ." He looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Tell him, what? That his former protégé is here spending her vacation with me, cuddling next to me in my bed?" She looked at him with irritation, and he returned the favor. She was the one who'd brought it up. "I hadn't planned on telling him that you were here at all. But if you're planning on telling him yourself, I can mention to him that you came for a quick visit so nothing looks suspicious." She paused, considering the alternatives. He stood up from the couch.

"No, don't tell him I'm here." Despite all the gossip that had spread like wildfire on Voyager after Quarra, Admiral Paris and the rest of the brass were miraculously ignorant about her pseudo-affair with her helmsman. She hadn't falsified any of her personal logs; she was just vague. Still, it was clear from her logs that she and Tom had been friends. She was shocked that other people hadn't filled in the rest. She'd been silently grateful, then, for whatever sympathy B'Elanna had shown her at the end. And now, Kathryn found herself not wanting to tempt fate. She could only imagine how delightful lunch with Owen Paris would be once he knew that she'd slept with his son.

"Okay." Toms shrugged. It was what he hoped she'd decide.

"So, what will you tell him? A lie about how you spent your day?" The faintest note of judgment was sneaking into her voice, and Tom fought the prickle of anger he felt. It wasn't like she was championing honesty at the moment herself.

"No. I will tell him the parts of the truth that I judge appropriate to share with him." His voice was far too even. Kathryn realized she was beginning to anger him, but pushed on.

"Such as?"

"That I spent the morning reading the novel he sent me last week. That I spent the afternoon at the café I took him to the last time he was here. That I had dinner with an old friend."

"And when he asks who the friend was?" Her eyebrows arched, her voice slipped uncomfortably close to her command voice.

"He won't," Tom said flatly.

"Tom, what if. . ."

"He won't," he cut her off, looking at her with thinly veiled anger. "My father is surprisingly incurious about my life, Kathryn. The fact that I was on the other side of the galaxy for seven years hasn't changed that." His jaw was tight, and she froze at the swiftness of his anger. Rarely did he allow himself to be riled by her, even when she baited him. She knew that this was her fault. His father was one of the few subjects he was touchy on, even when they were at their closest on Voyager. He continued, his eyes daring her to interrupt him. "The first day I got back to Earth, he met me in San Francisco but didn't ask anything about my life on Voyager. When I divorced B'Elanna, he didn't ask why or if I was doing alright. I took this job and he remarked that I would be better off on a ship, but didn't ask any details about what I would be doing here. He seems entirely disinterested in my friends, my work, my life. And that's the way it's been almost all of my adult life. I accept it, I've gotten past the anger. But. . ." His voice trailed off, but his expression finished the thought for him- he'd be damned if she was going to tell him anything about his father and their relationship. She looked at him apologetically, but knew better to say she was sorry now. He would dismiss it without taking it in. He wouldn't listen to her until the anger passed. In this, he and the older Paris were the same.

"I can't believe he doesn't take an interest in your life. He seems so proud of you, of your life on Voyager." Owen frequently brought up Tom when he and Kathryn were alone. She'd learned to hide the wave of pain it brought her, willing her voice to be warm while she recounted stories to him of his son's intelligence and grace. She'd often thought it was her private purgatory for all the mistakes she'd made with Tom over the years.

Tom's face softened at her words now, his glare turning into a rueful expression.

"That's always been the problem, Kath." His voice wasn't bitter, but regretful. "He tells everyone he cares about me, that he's proud of me. But he doesn't tell me." He turned, going to the hall closet to get Gavvy's electronic leash. Gavvy followed him, tail wagging. "I've learned to forgive him for a lot of things. But part of that entails me accepting things I'll never be able to change." Kathryn watched Gavvy grow steadily more excited as Tom scanned the closet and then produced the device. By the time he moved to attach the receiver to the dog's collar, she was bounding in the air, making the process more difficult. Kathryn laughed. She thought about forgetting the bath all together and going with them. Tom eyed her and surmised as much. He knew that she'd quickly change her mind again when she contemplated the inviting tub that awaited her. As expected, she stood up from the couch, moving to the stairs.

"You two have fun," she called. Tom nodded, coaxing the Gavvy through the door.

. . . . .

That night in bed, it took the two of them a long time to fall asleep. Despite the alcohol they'd drank and the excitement of the day, their bodies resisted unconsciousness given the rest they'd allowed themselves earlier. They lay pressed against each other, as they had at the end of their nap, speaking in low voices. They spoke now of all the things that had been taboo before, on Voyager. When she was his commanding officer. When he was with B'Elanna. They still hadn't even kissed. But holding each other in the dark, admitting truths long buried, neither thought they'd ever been more intimate with one another.

"When I was with B'Elanna, I didn't think I was settling." His arm was around her and his mouth was only centimeters from her ear. He didn't see her eyes shut in pain, but he felt her tense. "I'm not saying it to hurt you. I just. . . Need you to understand. I need to not lie to you about any of it." He felt her nod, saw the movement in the moonlight that faintly illuminated the room. "My feelings for her were entirely different for my feelings for you. But they were real, and I didn't consider her a second choice." She let out a breath, willing away the wave of nausea she felt.

"I understood that." It wasn't true, they both knew. She'd nursed the hope, somewhere deep within her, that he was with B'Elanna only because he couldn't be with her. How could she not? He didn't blame her, but he couldn't stay quiet about the truth either. "I suppose B'Elanna had trouble believing that after Quarra." It was his turn to sigh and close his eyes.

"She had trouble accepting it long before Quarra. We fought about it often." She shifted her head so she could see his face. She hadn't known that. He looked pained. "At the time, I thought she was just insecure, afraid of being abandoned. But now. . . I don't know. I think she and I could have been happy, could have built a life together. But, in the end, I may have been asking too much." She reached out and touched his face. She'd half expected to find moisture on his cheeks, but they were dry. He pressed on. "You know, when we first in the Delta quadrant, B'Elanna had feelings for Chakotay." Kathryn hadn't known this either. "They faded before she and I got together. But what if they hadn't? It would have hurt to be with her and know that, as much she loved me, she also loved someone else." She nodded in the dark. She couldn't imagine lying next to Tom like this and thinking he missed B'Elanna. Thinking he hadn't accepted their divorce. She held onto him tighter, and they were silent for a while.

"You know, I think the first few years of our journey, Chakotay had feelings for me." She heard Tom snort softly. He wondered if Kathryn was going to inform him next that Seven was socially awkward or the Doctor's bedside manner could have used improvement. She smacked him gently on the chest. She and Tom had never talked about it directly before, but she'd suspected he knew. At various points, Tom had given her knowing glances, or else looked at Chakotay with a little too much sympathy. "He never came out and told me. And I always wondered about it. But as much as I adored Chakotay as a friend, I never had those kinds of feelings for him." Tom propped his head up slightly with his hand.

"Do you find Seven and Chakotay's relationship. . . odd?" The turn of subject wasn't surprising. They'd been floating from topic to topic since they began talking.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. Kathryn hadn't said so to anyone else, and had made a show of being supportive in public. But she'd found it completely mystifying when she first learned about Chakotay and Seven, and, truthfully, still did.

"It seems almost predatory." She could tell, even in the dark, that he regretted his word choice and pulled a face. She stilled him with her hand before he could retract it. Lechery and predation were the farthest thing from Chakotay's character, and Tom had come to respect the man as much as she did. She's been surprised to find out earlier at dinner that Tom still kept in touch with Chakotay and Seven now. He'd wanted desperately to make it up to Seven that he'd abandoned her when his marriage had fallen to shambles. Kathryn saw Seven frequently, but Seven never mentioned Tom. She wondered exactly how much the former drone had come to understand about human relationships.

"I know what you mean." Kathryn looked up at the ceiling. "Seven just seems so young, all things considered. So naïve about the world. And Chakotay has always seemed a bit of a sage to me. I don't really understand the connection." In the dark, Tom shrugged.

"I guess people may have thought the same thing about us, about our friendship on Voyager." She turned her head again to look at him. She could make out his pensive expression, the small rim of blue around his pupils in the dark.

"Do you ever wonder how our paths would have been different if it hadn't been you and I on that planet? If it was you and B'Elanna, or you and Harry? If it was Chakotay and me?" The contemplation fell away from his face when she asked this, and he looked almost stricken.

"All the time." It was true. "And I'm grateful that it happened the way it did. Everyday, I'm grateful." She wrapped her arms further around his body, settling her head on his chest. Through his sleep shirt, she kissed his shoulder.

. . . . .

In the morning, Tom made breakfast. He'd learned how to cook crepes, and he made a simple offering of crepes with apricot preserves. As he cooked, he told Kathryn that there would be lots of time to kick around the house. That today they should go out and enjoy the countryside, the attractions. Her hair was still damp from her shower- she'd been pleased to learn he had a water shower in addition to the bathtub- and she readily agreed as she pulled it back before it could dampen her blouse. She was setting the table, and he was pulling the last of the crepes out of the pan on the plasma stove. When she walked past him to get silverware from the drawer, she caught her by the wrist, easily pulling her to him. She hadn't expected it, and nearly lost her balance. He held her to him tightly, and then kissed her. It was a deep kiss, one that she felt all the way down to her toes. She kissed him back, and eventually he pulled away, nuzzling her ear with his nose.

"I've been waiting for you to do that since I got here," she said, smirking a little.

"I know. And I've been waiting, too. But first we were both terrified, and then we were both drunk." Her smirk got bigger, she pressed herself into him slightly.

"Ah, yes. But I'm much easier when I'm drunk, Mr. Paris." He chuckled, kissing the side of her neck. She gasped, and swore silently that he didn't play fair.

"I know. But the first time we did this, we had no idea who we were. I didn't want to start anything without all of my faculties present." He kissed her neck again, and then pulled back to look at her. "I hate that when I first made love to you, I didn't know who you were, or what you meant to me. I hate that I learned how you like to be touched, and then had to feel guilty for the knowledge." His admission touched her, and she cupped his face. But her mind latched onto his first comment.

"So, are you starting something now?" She ran her finger up his chest, but resisted the urge press herself into him again. His eyes glinted mischievously.

"Oh, I don't know." The rest of his face looked boyish, innocent. "We wouldn't want breakfast to get cold." He turned from her, picking up the serving dish filled with crepes and moving to the table.

"Tease!" she cried, hitting him on the backside as she walked around him to take a seat at the table. He laughed out loud, but didn't respond as he sat down across from her. Gavvy sat by their feet, patiently waiting for scraps.

After breakfast, they decided to go to Saint-Malo. Tom explained that many of the beaches in Brittany were cold and rocky, but the beaches of Saint-Malo were soft and lovely, the English channel stretching out in front of it as far as the eye can see. The city was an ancient port, its fortifications originally dating back all the way to Europe's Middle Ages. For centuries, the area thrived on tourism, it's streets boasting innumerable shops and restaurants.

"I didn't bring a bathing suit," Kathryn said, eyeing him.

"So, you'll get one there," Tom replied, setting the small force field that would allow Gavvy go to in and out through the back door. He didn't see the face she made. Bathing suit shopping, let alone with Tom, did not sound relaxing. She didn't respond, but unconsciously moved one of her hands to her hip. Tom noticed her posture when he turned around, making a mental note to tread lightly.

In Saint-Malo, they moved slowly along the streets, weaving their way in and out of shops. Kathryn watched with contentment as they passed people in a large café, the sun shining brightly on the rich red curtains that framed the establishment's windows. Tom had told her once, when they were wandering the streets of the Paris holoprogram, that an old French idiom for expressing that something was pleasant but ultimately fleeting was that it was 'un dejeuner de soleil': literally a sun's lunch, but more loosely, something that would quickly fade. Kathryn silently wondered if all of life could be characterized this way, and was afraid of how much time had passed her by already. Tom could feel her mood beginning to turn, even though they were both silent. He stopped in front of a shop that sold women's clothing, and she looked at him.

"If you don't want to go swimming, there's no need to buy a bathing suit." Kathryn noticed his diplomatic approach, but didn't remark on it. "But we can poke around to see if there's anything else you like." She'd mentioned, when he described Saint-Malo, that she'd be interested in doing some shopping. She hadn't really bought much of any clothes since she returned to Earth, and she finally had the desire to update her wardrobe. The place Tom had stopped in front of looked promising. They were fashionable dresses and interesting jewelry, but nothing that was too trendy or too young. They went into the shop and he gave Kathryn space to poke around her, choosing to chat up the merchant instead. The man was a Bolian, and he and Tom talked about how he chose this particular place to settle down.

By the time Kathryn had selected two sundresses, three blouses, and a pair of slacks, Tom and Bolian were talking like they were old friends. Kathryn draped the clothes across the counter, and Tom leaned against the wall beside her, introducing her to the merchant. The Bolian's blue face lit up with a smile and he nodded at her. Tom didn't look at her selections, and Kathryn knew with conviction that he'd noticed the absence of a swim suit and was refusing to comment. She pursed her lips.

"Can I help you find something else?" the merchant called to her as she walked away from the counter.

"No, I'll be fine on my own. I just need a moment." She made her way toward the side of the store, where the swim suits hung. Tom allowed himself to watch her now, but said nothing. After a few minutes, she pulled down a black one-piece; an athletic looking item that practically looked Starfleet issue. She could have sworn she heard Tom make a noise- something between a sad sigh and a forceful exhale- but when she turned around, he was studiously looking at a display of men's shirts. Still, she put the black suit back, walking down the aisle. When she reached a green two-piece, she stopped and held it up. It tied behind the neck, and had enough fabric that it wouldn't show too much above or below. But she liked the color and thought it might be flattering on her body. She frowned slightly as she looked at it, but then the frown was replaced by a look of resolve. She returned to the counter with the green suit. Tom was still up front, examining the menswear.

"You can drop the act, Mr. Paris. I'm all done now." The Bolian looked at Tom and let out what sounded like a whistle, and Tom smiled sheepishly. When they were finished, they walked along the street holding hands, Kathryn's bags tucked under his arm. They navigated their way out of the inner fortification, then out to the external street and down to the beach. Tom located a changing station where they could get into their swimming clothes, as well as secure their personal items. In the changing room, Kathryn couldn't figure out why she was so nervous. Tom had seen her naked many times, both in his professional capacity as medic and as well as his unprofessional capacity on Quarra. Her body hadn't really changed since then. It hadn't been that long ago, after all. Why she so self-conscious about getting into a swimsuit?

When she emerged, he was waiting, wearing navy blue swim trunks and holding two towels underneath his arm. Tom didn't comment on her appearance- he knew she'd dismiss the compliment anyway- but regarded her with a large smile. She smiled back, and they picked their way along the beach, walking down to the water. She was afraid it would be too cold, but he waded in first, his legs submerged in the gentle surf up to his knees.

"It's not bad," he said, shrugging. Kathryn nodded and followed suit. But then abruptly let out a cry.

"It's cold!" she screamed in an accusing voice.

"No, it isn't." He laughed and her scowl seemed to deepen. "It just isn't warm." When she crossed her arms, he splashed her.

"Thomas Eugene, you should be very careful right now. You know, more than anything, that I hate the cold." She was pointing a finger at him, regarding him with a glare that would have made Harry Kim or even Chakotay melt into a puddle in front of her.

"Well," he said, looking sincere, "the best way to acclimate to the cold is to go in all the way." She knew what he was going to do before he finished speaking, but before she could move away, he already had her around the waist and was dragging her out into the water. She was shrieking and wriggling in a completely undignified manner. She swore out loud she would make him for this, but he didn't release her. When they were far enough out that he could barely touch the gravelly bottom on his tip toes, he tossed her unceremoniously in front of him. She briefly went under water, before she emerged sputtering curses in Klingon.

"You're going to pay horribly for this, you know." She swam around him menacingly, and he splashed her again.

"Bring it on, Katie cat. Admiral Katie." She dove underwater and he went to red alert. He blocked her arms as they circled around his torso, but he realized almost too late that it was a distraction. She had a handful of his swim trunks and almost successfully pulled them down. He circled her wrist with his hands, pulling her up, and then against him.

"I don't think so, my dear." She shook her the hair from her eyes, the water splashing him in the face. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You've been trying to get me naked all day." She laughed against him, her arms circling his neck. They were now in shallow enough water that he could stand up fully. Kathryn still couldn't touch the bottom, but Tom held her up as her arms encircled him. Then they were kissing, and they both could taste the salt of the water when their lips, followed by their tongues, made contact. Her legs were tight around him, the hands that circled her back moved lower, grabbing her backside and pulling her tighter against him. She moaned in his mouth, and he dragged his lips away from hers. When he broke contact with her mouth, she came back to herself.

"I suspect," she began, biting her lip, "we should stop this before it becomes inappropriate for public." They were both submerged up to their shoulders, but even then there was only so much that was appropriate on a public beach.

"Hey, you're the one who tried to undress me." He looked at her with a lopsided grin, and she fought the urge to kiss it off his face until he was breathless. Instead, she slid down and off his body, but did so slowly. Tom suspected she did deliberately to torment him, but Kathryn's face was the picture of innocence. They swam for an hour before he turned to her and asked if she was ready for lunch. She looked at him incredulously and he rolled his eyes.

"What I mean is: are you ready to have your mid-day coffee break while I eat lunch?" She splashed him, and they made their way out of the water, drying off with the towels they brought. Tom changed back into the clothes he'd worn earlier, and Kathryn changed into one of the dresses she'd bought. It was a cream colored halter that tucked in at the waste before cascading gently below here knees. When she emerged from the changing station, Tom nodded approvingly.

. . . . .

Walking back to Tom's house, it was already dark, the streets lit gently by moonlight. They both still had random particles of sand in their clothing- uncomfortable evidence of their swim that they couldn't dislodge. Kathryn silently chided herself for letting Tom convince her to skip the sonic shower at the changing station, but slipped her arm easily into his as they walked from the transporter station. When they arrived at the gate to his house, he pushed it open, allowing her to go in first. They followed the stepping stones, but Tom didn't go up the stairs to the front door. Instead, he led her around the side of the house and Kathryn assumed he wanted to show her the yard. She'd seen it out the window but had yet to make it past the front lawn.

When they were a few meters past the front of the house, he grabbed her and kissed her forcefully. She met his kiss eagerly, and the hairs on her neck stood up when she felt his hands traveling along her torso. The material of the dress was thin. She could feel the callouses at the base of his fingers when he caressed her back with his right hand, when he circled her breast with his left. She moaned in his mouth, and forced her hands underneath his shirt. He shed it easily, but as he slipped his hands under the hem of her dress, she pulled her mouth away.

"Tom." It was a plea as well as a question. They were obscured from sight by the house and the fence. But what about the sound? Tom had said earlier that his neighbor to the right was posted to a Starfleet vessel and was frequently gone; his neighbors to the left were on vacation in South America, visiting an aunt. Tom dragged his mouth across her neck and shoulder. He bit the sensitive skin just below her collar bone.

"You worry too much." It was all the reassurance she needed. She kissed him again, roughly, before reaching for his pants. They managed to disrobe with little effort, the trail of their discarded clothing glowing in the moonlight against the dark background of his lawn. "Kathryn," he gasped, as her hand caressed him. His eyes were dark with lust and her breath was already becoming ragged. His arms wrapped around her waist, and she allowed herself to be picked up off the ground.

It had been one year, seven months, six days since the last time Tom Paris had pushed her against a wall. One year, six months, twenty-nine days since he moved slowly within her, cupping her breasts and telling her that she was beautiful as she kissed every part of him she could reach. One year, six months, twenty-seven days since she had panted his name like it was something that could save her from dying, like it was something that might actually kill her. One year, six months, twenty-six days since her legs had clamped around him, shaking violently; her eyes shutting before everything faded into white heat.

She opened her eyes, and he was stilling moving inside her, his blue eyes meeting her grey ones as his movements sped.

"I love you," he gasped, while he was still capable of speaking. He'd never said it before. Not back then. Not ever.

It had been one year, seven months, six days since she'd cried while he arched into her. But this time, they both knew exactly what it meant.


	7. Epilogue: In the end

In the end (Epilogue)

She noticed as she turned her key that the locking mechanism to the front door was working better than when she first installed it. She realized that Tom must have tinkered with it, after her third attempt to fix it failed. She felt a slight wave of frustration at her ineptitude at such a menial task, and pushed a strand of hair out of her face with a forced breath.

"Tom?" Kathryn called as she pushed open the door. He hadn't met her at the transporter station, which was unusual. But then, she'd actually transported on time for once, and she suspected he might not have thought to leave the house yet. In the living room, she slung her bag down on the couch and Gavvy greeted her, jumping up on her hind legs. Kathryn pushed her down- she was too old to be jumping on people- but then rubbed the animal's head affectionately. "Where's your daddy, huh?" Gavvy licked her hand, and then turned expectantly in a circle. Kathryn sighed. "Well, you're no help." She looked down the hallway into Tom's office, and then called up the stairs. No answer. She went to kitchen, standing with her hands on her hips. She decided she'd check the backyard before giving up and cuddling in the living room with Gavvy until Tom got back from wherever he'd gone.

Kathryn pushed open the back door and Gavvy bolted out in front of her, jumping onto Tom. He was stretched out in one of the wooden lawn chairs. With him were Seven and Chakotay. Chakotay was telling a story, Kathryn could tell by the tone of his voice even though the wind muffled his words. She recognized Seven standing in front of the men, with her back to her, by the cascade of golden hair and the posture that was still a bit too stiff to be comfortable. She came closer to them, and Tom saw her, his face lighting up in a smile.

"Hey," he said, shielding his eyes from the summer sun with his hand. Her hands moved to her hips.

"You fixed the lock on the front door." It was more an accusation than an observation.

"I did." He nodded.

"That was supposed to be my present to you."

"It's been a year. I need a door that locks, Kath." She huffed, and he held up his hands. "I find it endearing, really I do. You can do quantum physics and end civil wars on far away worlds. But you can't install a simple bolting mechanism." She glowered and he laughed.

"This from a man who built me a bath tub that was so poorly sealed that I could hear the water leaking as I bathed." She finally looked to Seven and Chakotay, smiling. "Hello, you two. I didn't realize you were joining us today." Seven remained where she stood, but angled her face to Kathryn.

"Tom invited us. He thought we could use the weekend away." Seven moved to hug her, and Kathryn saw the cake that sat on the small table next to Tom. It had blue icing, and she knew without asking that it was chocolate with raspberry filling. As she hugged Seven, Kathryn looked at Tom with eyes that held tears. He winked at her, and Chakotay smiled and smiled. "Happy birthday," Seven said, pulling away.

"Well," Chakotay began, after they'd all finished their hugs. "Should we go inside for dinner so we can dig into this delightful looking cake?"

Kathryn shook her head, and the dark-haired man looked puzzled. Kathryn put a hand on his shoulder before moving to stand next to Tom. "Chakotay, Tom and I have tradition." Tom looped his arm around her waist, and Chakotay waited for Kathryn to finish. "First, we eat the cake. And then, if we have room, we eat dinner." Seven and Chakotay laughed, and Tom kissed her before shooing Gavvy away from the cake with his foot.

. . . . .

Tom and Kathryn lay in bed reading, their free hands clasped under the covers. It was late and Chakotay and Seven were asleep in the guest room down the hall. Kathryn was still adjusting to the time change, and would be up for hours. Tom had grown accustomed to the pattern, and had slept in as late as he could that morning so he could stay awake with her that night. Tom put down the book he was reading, excusing himself to the bathroom. She liked that he preferred real books to PADDs, that when they lay together like this she could hear the gentle rustling of paper as he turned the page. That when she found him in his office, lined with bookshelves, it smelled solid and earthy. She put down her own reading, a PADD containing the latest diplomatic update on the Romulan homeworld, and picked up his book. It was a volume of poems by D. H. Lawrence that Harry had given to him on his last shore leave from the USS Hutchinson, two months prior. She was surprised Tom hadn't already finished reading it.

When Tom returned to bed, his book was in Kathryn's lap, and a far away expression was on her face. He settled into the bed, turning on his side to look at her. When she didn't speak, he wrapped his arm around her, and she grasped his hand.

"Do you think I'm like the woman in Lawrence's poem?" He knew which woman she meant; he'd left the book open to the poem "Intimates" when he went to the bathroom. He fought the urge to sigh. After eight years, her moods were still mercurial on her birthday.

"I've never thought you a particularly vain person." His tone was light, but Kathryn's eyes narrowed. This wasn't what she'd meant, he realized.

"No, I don't mean in that way." She took a deep breath. "I mean. . . Do you think that I'm so absorbed with myself that I fail to see you sometimes?" She looked at him as she asked, and his face softened. Her mood that inadvertently stumbled upon a difficult reality of their relationship. Tom considered his answer, wanting to tell her the truth. Wanting not to hurt her.

"I think. . . Throughout our relationship there have been times that you've been more selfish with me than you are otherwise. Than you are with other people." It was the truth, both of them knew it. "But I've always thought that it was because I was the one person you could be selfish with. The person to whom you didn't have to be a savior or a saint. The person with whom you could just be a human being. A flawed, imperfect human being." His voice was sincere, and his eyes were filled with love. Tears pooled in Kathryn's eyes, but didn't fall.

"I'm so sorry that I cost us so much time. I'm sorry that treated you so horribly after the Moneans, that it took me a year to come here after we got home." She'd apologized for all of this a year ago, when she'd first found him in Saint James. She'd spent her entire three weeks of leave with him in France. The last night in bed, she'd clung to him and apologized for all the mistakes she'd made over the years. He'd held her tightly while she'd cried and cried.

He took the book from her, and pulled her onto him, her face only a few centimeters from his.

"I forgave you, long ago. And without even having to try." She tried to look away from him, and he pulled her face back to his, staring into her eyes. "Kathryn, in the end, you were always worth it. And I would have walked through fire, crawled over broken glass- done anything that you asked- to end up here, like this, with you." She shut her eyes, tears finally spilling out of them. When she opened them, he smiled at her, and she pressed her lips to his. The kiss grew, and soon his hands were roaming her body.

"Tom," Kathryn said in a low voice, "they're just down the hall."

"So, we'll be quiet." His mouth traveled in an agonizing fashion over her neck.

"Still, it just feels. . . Weird." He smirked against her, a small chuckle vibrating against her neck.

"How do you know they're not doing the same thing?" Kathryn let out a horrified gasp and rolled off him, cursing in Bolian.

"Well now we're really not doing this!" she said, grabbing her PADD again. A picture of Chakotay and Seven was the last image she needed in her head while she was writhing against Tom.

"Are you kidding me?" Tom's face was shocked, his body screaming that this couldn't be happening. She shook her head, sending him a warning glare.

"Well now you're really being selfish." He fluffed his pillow with too much force before slamming his head down.

"You said you were willing to climb over broken glass for me. I assume you'll manage a little discomfort."

"I'd prefer the broken glass." He sounded petulant, and she ignored it, trying to suppress the grin from her face.

"Just you wait. The next time you're ready, I'm going to let things get as far as they can before making you picture Harry Kim." He waggled a finger at her. "Or better yet, my father." Her face didn't react, but he was sure he'd gotten to her.

"How do you know that I don't already think of your father during? The two of you look a great deal a like, after all. I imagine in twenty-five years, you'll be the spitting image of him." Her voice was nonchalant, professional. She knew it made the impact of her taunt worse.

"I can't believe you said that!" Tom's face was more horrified than she'd ever seen, and the corners of Kathryn's mouth turned up a bit. "See if I ever have sex with you again." He rolled over on his side, not looking at her. Silently, Kathryn chuckled.

In the end, she always got him.


End file.
